


Notebooks and Post-it’s

by Thankyoumissvanjie (caringis_notanadvantage)



Series: The Darkest Timeline [2]
Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: Angst, Booty Calls, Dom/sub Undertones, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Smut, break-up, soft dumb boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-19
Updated: 2019-09-03
Packaged: 2020-07-08 19:40:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 41,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19874998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caringis_notanadvantage/pseuds/Thankyoumissvanjie
Summary: Winning isn’t everything.Especially when it is not shared with a loud mouthed Puerto Rican with a larger than life personality.Whoever said that breaking up is easy, probably didn't have to work together with their ex.





	1. Chapter 1

Who would have thought that winning could feel like this? Like…

_ Nothing.  _

When Brooke had won Continental it had felt like the culmination of years of hard work. Trying to better herself, trying to reach that goal, so she could go on to bigger and better things. 

She cried and cried as the places the crown on her head. Of joy and pure relief. This was her ticket to the US, to a wider audience, and hopefully - Drag Race. Her legs had been shaking in her 10 inch heels and for a moment she thought she would fall under the weight of it all. Her smile felt like it could create cracks in her layers of perfect foundations. She was so happy. 

Yet, sitting here on that non-descriptive couch in some Levi’s sponsored set, with three of her season 11 sisters watching that mess of final Brooke had felt empty. She could feel A’keria and Silky giving her the stink eye, while Yvie gave her soft encouraging smiles.

Despite the fact that she was on the cusp of climax of what had been her life’s number one goal, she felt as if she was watching it all through a haze. The conversation around her felt hollow and far away. Suddenly Yvie grabbed her hand tightly.

It was time. 

_ Brooke Lynn Hytes - condragulations …. _

How she got her crown, how she celebrated it, who hugged her and what was said in the interviews that followed were a blur. 

In her mind she could recall still images of Courtney crying. She saw Yvie giving her a knowing and happy smile. She remembered flinching from the camera blitz. And yet it all felt unreal. As it if hadn’t happened to her. 

Seeing pictures afterwards showed her smiling. Yet she couldn’t tell or remember, iif she had been smiling because she was happy or because she thought she should. 

What happened after the camera turned off was a giant black hole in her mind.

Had she gone partying?

Did she drink?

Who did she talk to and what was said? 

No clue. 

All she remembered was afterwards. Sitting in some non-descriptive hotel room staring at the crown. Her Makeup a mess as tears slowly fell down her cheeks, her heart breaking as she realised what was wrong. 

What she was missing. 

Him. 

______________

Nina was worried. 

Had been for months. 

Being friends with Brooke was sometimes a difficult minefield to operate within. There were hidden paths, diffused bombs and seemingly harmless patches that turned out to be quite explosive when approached incorrectly.

But that was  _ before.  _

Now. Here. In the  _ after _ ? 

Nina’s map over Brooke was useless. Nothing was safe anymore. You never knew what would be a trigger, what would cause the queen of the north to turn into the polar express of hurt and sadness. 

One would have thought that winning Rupaul’s Drag Race would have given Brooke some joy. That it would have cemented her legacy and given her that  _ something  _ that clearly had been missing from her life. 

But Nina knew that in winning the crown Brooke felt that she had lost something much more precious.

A certain Puerto Rican with a loud mouth and personality bigger than the state of Texas. 

How winning the crown was at fault for that, was a mystery to Nina as Branjie had split apart long before the show had premiered. But that was Brooke. Always seeing the world in black and white.

Most people only saw Brooke Lynn Hytes, the professional. The pageant queen with the megawatt smile. The ballerina with the perfect moves. The stylish queen who had everyone panting for her. 

Nina saw Brock Hayhoe. A tired 30-something Canadian. A man who was going through the motions. The guy who had lost too much weight and been smoking too many cigarettes. 

Nina saw Brock. 

Her friend. Who was heartbroken, but too damn stubborn to actually admit it.

So yeah. She was worried.

________

Vanjie was living her best life. Her new teeth, mug and style had gone over well with her fans. 

Sure, she seemed to spend more time racking up frequent flyer points than sleeping, but she was living the dream. 

_ Her dream. _

She went from London to Paris, Sydney and then back to the US. She may not have won a crown, but she felt like what she gained was bigger. She was  _ “miss vanjie, vanjie, vanjie, bitch”,  _ a hyper queen with amazing moves, a foghorn voice and millions of fans - cut the check, yes ma’am.

Vanjie was living her best life.

José, on the other hand? He was… 

Okay?

He was simply going through the motions of life. Somehow trying to deal with the fact that his heart was somewhere over the Atlantic, resting with a tall, leggy, blonde Canadian. 

A gorgeous idiot, who was so emotionally inept that he could not deal with the simple fact that José loved him. 

He would never admit it, but he saw all the updates. Even had notifications turned on, so he never missed a story, lives or any of the many, many tweets. It was the only interaction with Brooke that he let himself have. 

More would simply hurt too much. 

The problem was that José’s obsessive checking, meant that he noticed. He saw and clocked every fake smile. 

Caring about Brock was really not his job anymore. He had shut that door loud and clearly. 

“...  _ and all I got was a post-it”  _

He still remembers that hurt look on Brooke’s face at the reunion. The way her lips had pursed to hide the blow. The deep intake of air that barely disguised her low sob. Nina’s low sigh from behind her.

He knew in that moment that he had truly and definitively ended the best damn thing that had ever happened to him.

It may have been Brock who ended things, but José knew that they had been heading that way. 

Being new to relationships Brooke had had difficulty figuring out how to deal with being apart. Absence might make the heart grow fonder, but it also made it more lonely. 

More prone to arguing and passive aggressiveness. 

They could both see that it didn’t work. But it was Brock who said it. 

In classic West Hollywood style, José chose to be hurt, to be angry. He lived for drama, and to be able to deal with the fact that Brock was not his anymore he had turned him into a villain. 

Even though they were both stupid hoes, who were too scared to really give it a try. 

So José had no right to be worried. He had given that away, when he decided to play the hurt ex on national television. 

But that didn’t stop him from frantically checking Instagram and Twitter for updates. For scouring the internet for news. Because he saw those tired eyes, and that fake smile.

And it worried the shit out of him. 

________

Brooke was drunk. So very drunk. 

The gig had gone amazingly. She had done a medley of “Sorry Not Sorry”, “God is a Woman” and her new favorite “Bootylicious”. The crowd had been panting for it, throwing dollars upon dollars at her.

The drinks kept on coming afterwards and she kept on drinking. 

Brookehad been doing non-stop gigs all over the country for the last 20 days, and it was all becoming a blur. 

Steve had just left for home, missing his husband and also going back to managing his other queens. Brooke had forced Courtney to go home and take a break, so she could sleep and just take a goddamn minute to relax.

She was without supervision. No one there to watch over her and stop her from making Bad Choices™

No one in that shitty motel room in some mid-west city, who could tell her half-out-of-drag ass that she should be putting her goddamn phone down and get some sleep. 

Which was probably why she tapped on  _ his _ icon and the stupid FaceTime dialing tone suddenly filled the otherwise quiet hotel room. 

_ Before _ ... that tone would have sent a thrill up her spine, filling her with anticipation and joy of getting to see him and hear him. 

Now it was just a heartbreaking reminder of what used to be. 

It kept on dialing. 

_ Please pick up…. please don’t…  _

Brooke didn’t know what she really hoped for. She hadn’t made a plan. She was just drunk. 

So very stupidly drunk and lonely. 

And then suddenly…

“ _ Shit mami, why you calling this late? Don’t you know us Latinas be sleeping now?”  _ His voice was, despite the late hour, still loud and gruff, instantly filling her with a complex mix of hurt, want and longing. 

_ Fuck. _

_ “ _ I…” Filled with shitty vodka, good tequila and regret… so much regret, Brooke felt unable to speak. She could glimpse José in his bed, the red covers making her shiver with the memory of how soft those sheets had felt on her bare legs - the thread count impossible high because “ _ bitch, I deserve them Egyptian sheets, you know I ain’t some basic ikea ho!” _ . 

“ _ Brooke Lynn? Whadya doing?”  _ Suddenly the lights were on, and Brooke could  _ see  _ him. José looked tired, and worn out. The cat tattoo was on full display and small sparkles of glitter still stuck to his skin. He probably just got home from a gig. Or not, she remembered his joy for body glitter saying “ _ everything good and expensive sparkle, mama. Diamonds, hookers, and Miss Vanjie, boo”. _

Brooked tried to drink him all in, to remember how he looked in this very moment, so she could later agonise over it in bed.

If she was going to self-destruct, she might as well do it properly. 

But most of all Brooke wanted to savour this part of him, because it felt like this was still  _ hers _ and only hers. No ones it to see the no-filter, just awoken José. 

“I’m sorry… I just… fuck. I don’t know what I am doing. Sorry for waking yo-“

“ _ Don’t give me some of that fucking maple-ass-Canada-sorry bullshit , miss Hytes. We ain’t speaking for months and you just call for no fucking reason in the middle of the. No Mary, I ain’t believing that. So what’s the T, Brooke _ ?” José was pointing at the screen, jostling his phone, making the image unclear. 

It made Brooke smile. 

It was so him. 

Fuck. 

Seeing him made her chest ache with the realization that he still owned her heart and very being.

“I…” that sentence could go so many places. 

_ I miss you. _

_ I Love you.  _

_ I Need you.  _

_ I think about you everyday.  _

But all of those were too hard. Too true. Even though Brooke was a completely goner for him, she still had a tiny drop of dignity left in her. A tiny piece of restraint, that would keep her from ever becoming  _ that _ ex.

The one that calls drunk and sad, begging for forgiveness and to be taken back.

Nope.

She. Would. Not. 

“I am drunk… and I don’t know…” that felt safer, less revealing, “and I just wanted to hear your voice.”

_ Fuck.  _

_ “So imma be speaking with miss Hytes the vodka edition? I remember her. Though I don’t see any-“  _ suddenly Jose looked away from his phone as a gruff “ _ Babe? Who you talking with? _ ” could be heard over the phone.

No. 

Brooke felt herself go numb. 

“Shit, José. I’m sorry, I’ll go… uh. See you, yeah. Bye”. She looked away from the screen and only heard a loud “ _ Brock, shit- _ “ before hanging up. 

“Fuck.”

The phone started ringing immediately, making Brooke place it face down on the bed. 

Her hand shook. She could feel the bile in the back of her throat. 

It tasted like 10 shots of vodka and regret. 

She shouldn’t have called. 

Rising from the squeaky bed, she walked with unsteady legs to the bathroom. In the mirror the ice queen stared back at her. 

It was amazing what makeup and a wig could do for an overworked heart-broken shell of a man. 

With precise and slow movements, not betraying her inebriated state, she slowly began the process of removing every last trace of Brooke Lynn Hytes until all that was left was the shadow of Brock Hayhoe. 

Only then did the tears start falling. 

Only then did Brock allow himself to break down.

Out on the bed, Brock’s phone kept on vibrating without ever being answered


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Oh. It’s you. What do you want?” Vanjie wanted to shiver with the iciness of her tone, as Brooke just kept on blending her purple smokey eyes. 
> 
> “We got’s to talk.”

The season 11 tour was an experience. 

It was hard work, an insane amount of travelling and also a bit like being on summer camp. 

There was no other way for Nina explain it. Being together with her season 11 sisters was amazing. The absence of cameras made them all relax more, which made the drama disappear. 

It made it possible for her to really appreciate all her sisters. 

She was in awe over Yvie’s drag, she loved A’keria and her tendency to stir the pot. Plastique, Soju and Ariel made her feel old while teaching her everything about filters and hashtags. Shuga was a delight and Silky was loud and fun. Vanjie was… different? 

Nina couldn’t really put her finger on it. Vanjie was still loud and hilarious. But something seemed very  _ off.  _

It was, however, difficult to investigate, as both Silky and A’keria had kind of closed ranks around Vanjie. 

They probably thought that Vanjie needed protection from Brooke, even though the Canadian queen was isolating herself from everyone, even Nina. 

The last time Brock had reached out to her was weeks ago, as he called her in the middle of the night, sobbing and completely out of it. From what Nina could gather, Brock had drunk dialled Vanjie, only to realise that she was with…  _ someone.  _

Nina tried to console him, to tell him that maybe he needed to reach out to Vanjie after he had sobered up. 

But she knew that he hadn’t done it. In fact, the day after all she got was a text that said

_ Sorry. Got a bit too drunk last night and was an idiot. Please don’t make a thing out of this.  _

So Nina didn’t. 

She left Brock alone and saw him transform into Brooke Lynn Hytes, current reigning queen. Brooke was flawless and if you didn’t know her you would think that she was doing okay. 

But Nina could see the protective layers of ice that she had covered herself in. She saw how Brooke only truly shined on the stage and during Meet & Greet’s. 

Nina noticed how the smile would fall from her lips the moment Brooke walked backstage. How the queen would keep to herself and not really participate in any of the shenanigans.

But Nina didn’t know what to do. Brooke had put up andimpenetrable wall that would’ve made Trump jealous. 

Seeing the heartbreak that Brooke was going through made Nina want to yell at Vanjie. 

Except, It was clear that she was hurting too.

It was obvious that her eyes sought out Brooke in every room she entered. Just for a moment. Every single time that Vanjie thought no one was looking, she would search for Brooke. 

So what was a soft and cuddly Miss Congeniality, who most of all just wanted her friends to be okay to do? Brooke was out of the question, and getting close to Vanjie seemed almost impossible to-

“Hello, hello, hello Miss Nina. Whadya done being hiding here?” The loud trucker voice startled her out of stupor, making her jump a little in her heels. 

She turned around, coming face to face with Vanjie in full drag. Her brunette hair, thigh high boots and sparkly t-shirt dress made her look street-fish. 

What she also noted was that Vanjie was alone.

“Biiiitch. You can’t scare an old woman like that!” Vanjie’s laugh sounded like a cross between a dying seagull and an old man having an asthma attack. Which in turn made Nina laugh. 

Fucking Vanjie. 

They both stopped laughing at the same time, staring at each other. Nina opened her mouth ready to finally broach the subject of a certain moody Canadian, but it was Vanjie who spoke first.

“How is he?” It was said quietly, yet quickly. Vanjie looked slightly surprised, as if she herself was bamboozled over the fact that she had actually asked that question. 

It was certainly not what Nina expected. 

“He’s…” she didn’t want to out Brock, certainly not to his ex. But lying to Vanjie also seemed out of the question. “...good. Yeah. Good.”

_ That fooled no one, you idiot. _

“Don’t be lying. I know him. He be drinking and smoking like he’s Bianca’s Motherfucking twin. He ain’t right and I think I gone done fucked up…” 

“Vanj…”

“I know you his good Judy and I ain’t trying to be starting anything… just… I see him and get emotianat- emotio- I get up in my feelings okay. He doesn't look good, Nina.” 

“I know. But I-“

“And then he called me - we ain’t talking for months and he just calls drunk on vodka. What was I ‘posed to do? He had on his sad big eyes, looking like I ate the last bit of that stupid Canadian food he fucking love-“

“Poutine ?”

“Yeah, that Putin shit… He done left me, and then he be calling, at night? That’s some wrong ass shit, Miss Nina. I am trying to move on instead of thinking ‘bout what could’ve been. Bitch left me, so why he moping like a toddler?”

“You guys left each other. You were both scared and not ready. You know this. Stop only blaming him, Vanj.” 

“I ain’t blaming him! I am just sayin’... he left me.” Her voice cracked on the last syllable. It made Nina’s heart ache. 

These two idiots. 

“Maybe you guys should talk with each. You’re not okay, and he is… whatever he is. Maybe you need to clear the air, there’s obviously some unfinished business here.”

“Okay, Miss A’keria. Have you seen that tall glass of Canadian ball busting ballerina? He don’t wanna talk with me. I’ve tried.”

“It’s Brooke. You gotta give her no choice. And come on. You’re Vanessa Vanjie Mateo. Since when have you ever let a little Canadian bacon get in your way”

“Well shit, mama. You’re right.” And with that she turned on her heel, marching down the hall with determined steps towards Brooks room. 

_________

Vanjie was a chicken. 

Despite her determined steps and iron will, she found herself faltering as she stood outside Brooke’s room. 

Could she really do this? Maybe Nina was wrong, maybe she should just forget about all of this.

But then she thought about Brooke’s face, the way that she didn’t really seem happy anymore, and made a quick decision. 

She was Miss Motherfucking Vanjie, and she sure as shit didn’t hide away nobody. 

Pushing open the door, Vanjie barged in, quickly closing the door after herself, ensuring that they would have no audience for this. 

The sudden sound made Brooke look up startled, getting eye contact through the mirror with Vanjie. 

Her face went through several emotions in a span of a few seconds - all too quick for Vanjie to identify any of them - before she settled on cold and blank disinterest. 

“Oh. It’s you. What do you want?” Vanjie wanted to shiver with the iciness of her tone, as Brooke just kept on blending her purple smokey eyes. 

“We got’s to talk.”

“I’ve got nothing to say to you. Please leave”

“No.”

“Vanj. Leave.”

“Nu-uh Mama, we doing this.” Vanjie quickly turned around and locked the door, leaning with her back up against looking right at Brooke.

She knew that Brooke could lift her with a pinky, if she really wanted to move her, but shit, there weren’t a lot of options left. 

“Oh. So  _ now  _ you want to talk?” Brooke turned around in her chair, looking Vanjie directly in the eye instead of through the mirror. Her eyes were thunderous and Vanjie wanted to cheer out loud, as it was the most emotion the queen had directed at her since it became official that they had broken up. 

“Yeah. I’m done hidin’... So let’s talk.” Crossing her arms in front of her chest, Vanjie looked at Brooke expectantly. 

“About what? What could I possibly have to say to you?” Brooke got up from her swivel chair and walked towards Vanjie. She was wearing her signature blonde hair and her purple stepford-wife-kaftan-realness dress was swishing behind her.

Vanjie’s mouth dried up, as she was once again reminded of the beauty that was Brock in full drag. The beauty and grace made Vanjie want to stare at her forever, while also making her tingle with the need to wreck the sheer perfection in front of her. 

“No really? What? You want to talk about how everyone is blaming me? What about your little post-it quote? Should we discuss how A’keria and Silky keep giving me the side eye?” Brooke’s voice slowly increased in volume as she walked closer and closer to Vanjie. Towering over the smaller queen. 

“No wait… I know. Let’s talk about how I fucking have to stare are your face every day and be reminded of what could’ve been!” Brooke poked Vanjie in the chest her eyes flashing.

“I am done with all of this.” 

Vanjie’s heart skipped a beat as her mind processed what Brooke had just said “ _ what could’ve been” _ , the air electric between them. 

“We have a meet & greet in 10 minutes.” Brooke was gorgeous, her blue eyes like a storm, anger collected in the fine lines of her face. “So move.”

“No.” Vanjie stood her ground, the word almost getting caught in her throat, Brooke looking like a hunter.

“Move.”

Brooke stepped forward, and Vanjie was the first one to move, her hand slamming into Brooke’s chest pushing her back slightly

“Oh...” Brooke looked down at the hand, like she couldn’t believe what Vanjie had just done.

Brooke shoved back, Vanjie almost stumbling, and then they were kissing, teeth clicking, lips sliding, hands gripping, tearing, taking and Vanjie wanted to disappear into Brooke. 

“You fucking bitch.” 

The words were hissed through clenched teeth, as Vanjie grabbed Brooke’s hair, her fingers buried in the blonde wig and pulling, forcing Brooke closer, making her be the aggressor. Brooke was quick to catch on, slamming Vanjie against the door.

“No, you’re the bitch.” Brooke whispered it between kisses.

It was hot and hateful, tender and burning, everything crashing down with the words they could not bring themselves to say out loud. Their bodies telling stories of longing and love, of broken promises and heartbreaks that were still bleeding. Tender stories of what they both so desperately wished they could still have; their swollen lips, gripping fingers and tender jaws an exchange between two wounded people who had no language left, but the most primal of all. 

It was Brooke who broke them apart.

Brooke who stood up and turned to the mirror, checking her makeup. 

It was Brooke who avoided Vanjie’s eyes as she calmly walked out of the dressing room with the parting words:

“You better fix your makeup, meet & greet starts soon”

Vanjie was left all alone in the dressing room. With a heaving chest, wide eyes and a muddled mind that tried to understand what had just happened. 

“Well… shit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to K for being a bro! ❤️❤️ 
> 
> And thanks to all you for reading and liking it. I am thinking this might end up at around 5/6 chapters in total? Hopefully ya’ll are up for that.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What do you want?”
> 
> “We needs to talk. I see your lil sour patch children face, you gotta get it together. This moping and drinking is you being a stupid ho. Where that professional Canadian who don’t drink and smoke at?”
> 
> “What would you know about that?”
> 
> “I ain’t blind. So talk to me!”
> 
> “You’re the last person, I want to talk to,”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... you might have noticed that the rating has changed... that’s cause I’ve tried to write smut. Be kind, I’ve never done that before. 
> 
> Shoutout to the best Dane, for saving my ass time and time again with her help. ❤️❤️❤️

Brooke was seeting. Her rage barely contained as she danced her way through “Queens Everywhere”, grateful that she in this particular choreography didn’t have to acknowledge Vanjie’s existence. 

How she had gotten through the meet & greets, and danced her way through her numbers, was a mystery to her. 

Everything inside her was filled with the memory of that kiss. Those lips. 

How they had felt like coming home.

Her heart was screaming at her, beating out a rhythm of love and anguish. Her lips still tasted of Vanjie, and reminded her of all she had lost. 

And it made her angry. 

Why? 

Brooke was barely hanging on by a thread, heavily helped along by a few shots of vodka and heavy smoking. 

So why now? 

They had broken up almost 6 months ago. Vanjie had clearly moved on, as she should. She wanted someone who could commit and Brooke was seemingly not that. 

So why was she toying with Brooke and her feelings? 

Did Vanjie think that Brooke didn’t care, that she was over her?

As the song finished and Brooke got into her final pose, she felt relief, fear and anger. She kept her pageant smile on her face as she bowed and thanked the audience. Counting down the seconds until she could return to the safety of her dressing room. 

Reminding herself that this time she would lock that door. 

Yet, the moment the curtain closed, she was pulled in four different directions. Brandon Voss wanted to go over the Werq schedule, while Nina wanted to check up on her, and Yvie had an idea for a new number they could do together. 

It meant that she got back to her dressing room later than she wanted. 

Thankfully it was blessedly empty, which made the process of getting out of drag quick and quiet. 

Removing her makeup had always felt slightly therapeutic to her, as it made her transformation from Brooke to Brock became complete. 

Having talked to Brandon and Yvie, Brock more calm, but here in the quiet of the dressing room, his mind filled with snapshots of what had happened. 

How they had been so aggressive with each other, pushing and pulling, biting and grabbing. 

The familiarity of Vanjie’s lips. 

The complete and utter euphoria of holding that perfect and small body in his arms once again. 

How Vanjie had kept her eyes closed for just a second longer after Brock had ended the kiss. 

“Fuck. I am such an idiot” Brock sighed into his hands.

“Sure boo, I coulda told you that. Why you be thinkin’ it now, tho’?”

The unmistakable sound of José’s voice filled the room.

————————

“ _ Sure boo, I coulda told you that. Why you be thinkin’ it now, tho’?” _

Seeing Brock startle was more satisfying than he thought possible. The sudden jerk of his whole body as he swivelled around on his chair, mirroring the position José has found him in a couple of hours ago. 

However, this time neither of them could hide behind multiple layers of makeup, padding and different names. 

They were just José and Brock here. 

“Jesus,  _ Papi _ . What the fuck?” José’s heart skipped a beat at the nickname - he hadn’t heard that since they had broken up. It made his chest fill up with an emotion that was too difficult to analyse now.

Brock’s face froze as he realised what he had just said, making José blurt out the first and best thing he could come up with, so the nickname wouldn’t be played off as a joke.

“Why you be skulking down here in this lil stardom dungeon. You too good for the rest of us, now that you got a smart blinging crown and all them coins, Hytes?” 

He was stalling, he knew that. But actually talking with Brock about that kiss and what the fuck it meant, was daunting.

“Voss wanted to speak. Why do you care?” The mask was back in place as Brock looked at him with a disinterested look. 

_ Fuck.  _

“Just talking, mami. Why so tense?”

“Don’t”

“Or what? I ain’t scared of you, Miss thing.”

“What do you want?”

“We needs to talk. I see your lil sour patch children face, you gotta get it together. This moping and drinking is you being a stupid ho. Where that professional Canadian who don’t drink and smoke at?”

“What would you know about that?”

“I ain’t blind. So talk to me!”

“You’re the last person, I want to talk to,”

“Well I don’t want to look at your moping face either, but we don’t always get what we want, Mary… so suck it up”

“Shut up.”

“Bitch, what did I just tell you. We need to be adulting instead this middle school drama.”

“No. Shut. Up.” 

“Or what? What’d ya gon do, mama? Yell at me? I know how that goes, I ain’t scared of that, so… what?”

______________________

With two quick strides Brock was in front of José, making his back hit the closed door. He could feel his blood boiling, as he looked down into José’s eyes - towering over the smaller man. 

Brock banged his hands into the door on either side of the tiny Puerto Rican’s face - effectively caging him in. 

“I said.  _ Shut. Up _ .” The words were hissed, and if asked Brock couldn’t even tell you why he did what he did next. But as José looked defiantly into his eyes, a surge of heat filled his stomach and with no thought for the aftermath Brock leaned down and kissed him with all he had. 

In a split second the world turned technicolour and all Brock could feel and think was  _ José, José, José. _

His small hands were grabbing the red sweatshirt that had become synonymous with Brooke Lynn Hytes, trying to gain the upper hand. 

But Brock had height and size in his favour, as he crowded the younger queen, trying to pour all his hunger, want and fury into the biting kiss. 

José gave as good as he got, as his hands roamed underneath Brock’s shirt. Nails clawing at his chest, leaving behind angry red marks. 

The kisses were bruising, teeth biting. 

The only thing that could be heard was the desperate grunts and moans of the two of them.

Brock’s hands wandered down to José tight jeans, knowing that he had a tendency to go commando after a gig. 

“Brock… what are you?”

“Tell me to stop, and I’ll stop.”

For a few seconds all the existed was José’s eyes as Brock stared into them, searching for an answer. This was the edge. And either they would stop this now or they would plunge into the deep end of something they both knew was stupid. 

A minuscule nod was all Brock needed as his hand grabbed José hard cock. Slowly but surely working his hand up and down, spreading the slight amount of precum that had gathered at the tip. 

“Fuck”

The soft gasps coming from José took Brock back to a different time, a time where these gasps weren’t tainted by history and anger.

Back when this was a sign of love and not… whatever clusterfuck of bad decisions this was. 

He started to kiss his way down José’s neck, biting and licking. Leaving behind his mark as a way to prove that this had actually happened.

“Don’t move.”

Brock stared intently at José, as his left hand held the smaller man’s hip in a bruising hold, pushing his back flat against the door. 

He let go of his dick, instead opting to gracefully get down to his knees, pulling José’s pants down in the process, leaving them around his ankles.

Brock looked up into his eyes, seeing a mixture of emotions that were difficult to identify. But his dilated pupils betrayed how far gone José really was. 

They might not have been good as a couple, but they sure knew their way around each other’s bodies. 

Leaning closer to his goal, softly blowing air onto the tip of his cock, Brock detoured before his lips made contact and instead placed wet and filthy kisses on the soft and caramel coloured hips. Biting and sucking. Wanting to leave as many marks as possible. 

He was waiting. Knowingly. 

“Fuck. Brock… plea-“

Before José had even finished his plea, Brock took him in his mouth, almost groaning with the pure pleasure of getting to do this again. 

_ Shit, he had missed this. _

He took him deep and sucked hard. Wanting to dominate, needing to be the only thought going through the smaller man’s mind. 

His left hand kept pushing José against the wall, making him immobile against the pleasure that Brock was bestowing upon him. 

The groans and moans didn’t seem to reach his ears as he focused on his task. The feel and taste of his ex making his mind flood with memories.

Hands found their way into his hair, pulling and gripping, trying to direct Brock, to make him go deeper and faster. 

Not that he listened. He was in control. He knew how to play José. Knew what made him tick better than most. 

He also didn’t want this end, knowing that this was an improbability in itself, and that it would mean nothing to José, the moment it was over. 

As the moans and groans became louder and mixed with the sucking sounds of Brock, he knew that his partner was getting close. So he pinched the skin on his hip and took his cock deeper, almost choking. 

“Fuck, shit- I’m”

The sudden spurt of salty liquid in his mouth made Brock swallow, milking José for all he was worth as he slowly turned soft in his mouth.

As Brock leaned back, mouth once again empty he looked up. Staring into those beautiful brown eyes. Pupils blown, breathe hard. 

_ I love you  _

Was what Brock really wanted to say. But he wasn’t a complete idiot. 

“That was a mistake.” Just a regular idiot. 

“... yeah. Felt good tho’. Fuck, _ mami. _ ”

José smiles wryly down at him, grabbing the hand at his hip, signalling to Brock, that he should get back up. 

Which he did. And in the process of getting back onto his feet he felt his protective armour clicking back into place. The wall was back and the fire that had run through his blood mere minutes ago was replaced with an icy flow of indifference. 

“This cannot happen again.”

“Why you tellin’ me that, mami? You the one who instigaga- ininist… you just sucked my dick dry and you making me out to be the bad guy. No ma’am. This ain’t me. This you, Miss Hytes.”

“I don’t care who started it. I am ending it”

“Seems to be a specialty of yours, boo.”

“Fuck you!”

“You just did.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Listen… I might have gone and been doing somethin’ a Lil dumb… or maybe a lot of dumb,” Silky looked on with dread, as the younger queen was twisting her hands - seeming distressed in a way that she had only been in connection with one simple subject… or someone.
> 
> “What bitch? As long as you ain’t touching that Canadian ice Queen, you golden.” Vanjie’s steps faltered slightly as he kept on pacing, trying hard to avoid looking Silky in the eye.
> 
> “ I mean...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was really fun to write, I hope that you enjoy it as much as I did writing it.

José was frantically knocking, hoping that her friend wasn’t snoozing just yet. 

“Fuck, Silk! Open the motherfucking door. Code red, bitch. Co-“ he wasn’t keeping his voice down, not caring that it was after midnight and that the guests probably wouldn’t take kindly to being woken up by his foghorn voice.

The door was opened by a bleary-eyed Silky, who was rubbing her squinting eyes while holding glasses in her other hand.

“Why you be waking me with your screaming and knocking, bitch. You know us beauty queens be needing at least 8 hours of sleep to look as good as -“ As Silky put on her glasses, seeing the world HD again, she noticed how bad the smaller queen looked, his body vibrating with energy and agitation.

“Fuck, Vanj. What happened?” The big queen had a suspicion, but hoped to both God and the ever-loving Jesus, that she was wrong. 

“I’ve gone and been a stupid ho…” He hurriedly barged past Silky, walking into her hotel room, immediately pacing the length of the room.

“What?” Closing the door after herself, Silky tried to clear her sleep-deprived brain, so she could understand what was going on. She tried to focus on Vanjie, but he was walking back and forth quicker than a queen at a wig sale.

“Listen… I might have gone and been doing somethin’ a lil dumb… or maybe a lot of dumb,” Silky looked on with dread, as the younger queen was twisting her hands - seeming distressed in a way that she had only been in connection with one simple subject… or someone.

“What bitch? As long as you ain’t touching that Canadian ice Queen, you golden.” Vanjie’s steps faltered slightly as he kept on pacing, trying hard to avoid looking Silky in the eye.

“ I mean...”

“Vanj, you dirty ho.” Silky sat her fine ass down on the bed, feeling tired. Not just because she had been awake for more than 20 hours, but also because she didn’t want to rehash the whole Branjie telenovela. And the way Vanjie was looking had four different alarms going on in her head.

“Bitch, I know.” Vanjie finally looked Silky in the eye nervously. 

Silky knew what had to be done, and grabbed her phone from the bedside table.

“Fuck, I ain’t awake enough for this.” She scrolled through her contacts, searching for the number of a certain someone who would be able to set Vanjie straight. 

“Nah, Silk don’t - I’ll just-“ understanding what was about to happen, Vanjie walked towards her, but Silk raised her hand in a stopping motion, effectively shutting up Vanjie - an achievement in itself. 

“You sit yo stupid ass right the duck down and enjoy the ride. Imma call auntie Kiki, no matter what you be thinking, you idiot…Loooord have mercy…”

————————

Nina lightly pushed against the already slightly unlatched door, fearing what she would be met with. She had run as fast as she could down to Brooke’s hotel room after receiving a text that just said, 

_Please come. Need help. Room 417._

“Brock?” 

“Hiiiiii Miss Nina!” Sitting on the floor with his back against the bed and a stupid smile on his face, Brock seemed deceivingly cheerful. The almost empty vodka bottle in his hand, however, told a different tale of alcohol indicated that the smile was due to alcohol and not joy. 

“Please tell me that bottle wasn’t full when you began?” Nina closed the door behind herself and walked towards Brock, already dreading the night she had in front of her.

“You betcha, it was,” he was giggling, but Nina could see the dried tear stains on his cheeks as she sat down next to him.

“Give it here.” She tried to take the bottle from his grasp, but he tightened his grip. “Brock, give it. You’ve had enough. More than enough. Jesus, we have a show tomorrow!” He stubbornly kept holding on to the bottle.

“Nope. I still remember.” His voice was low, almost reverent. 

“Remember what?” Nina lightly pushed against his shoulder, trying to figure out what had pushed him over the edge this time. 

“His lips, his smile…. how he felt in my arms… I need to forget.” _José_. Why was she surprised?

“It’s been six months. Shit Brock, I think I need to call Steve if you keep this up”. Brock leaned his head against Nina’s shoulder, trying to seek comfort. 

“Six months? I kissed him today?” It was mumbled against Nina’s shoulder, almost too low to be decipherable. 

“I know you don’t want to but this can’t keep…. you did WHAT?!” 

“Sucked his cock, too” Brock looked sheepishly up at Nina through his lashes. His drunk eyes a weird mix of mischief and hurt. 

“... I’m sorry, WHAT?”

————————

“So lemme get this straight. You went down to his Lil dressing room before the show and ended up having a Lil Kai Kai and then he went icy as Chris Evans in that marvel movie and left you with yo dick hard?” A’keria was standing in front of Vanjie who was on the bed. She had a fluffy bathrobe and looked both unimpressed and tired as hell. 

“Uh-huh.” Vanjie seemed to have shrunk in on himself, A’keria’s disapproval making him look like a little schoolboy who was being chewed out by his teacher. 

“And then yo stupid ass decided to go back after the show, thinkin’ “imma speak with lil Miss Hytes” and then she both blew yo mind and your cock? Am I missing something here, Mary?” 

“... nah, that’s all,”

Faster than Silky could react, A’keria leaned closer to Vanjie and slapped him on the back of his head.

“OW!! Bitch what the fuck?” Vanjie shrieked at A’keria, rubbing where she had hit him. Silly knew from experience that Auntie Kiki had a mean slapping hand when she disapproved of your choices, and sent a silent look of understanding to the tiny Puerto Rican in his moment of pain. 

“You a damn fool. Gurl, ya’ll went and broke up. I know the boy is good in bed, but you don’t need no post-it relationship, boo.” Sighing, she sat down next to Vanjie. “You be needing a man who can hold your hand in daylight not just suck your dick in stupid ass dressing rooms after hours. You know a “you a bird and he a bird” kind of relationship?” 

“A’keria… fuck, I know.” 

“Then why did you go and done it? You just got over his pasty white boy ass.”

“Well…”

“Vanj. _José…_ you guys ain’t good for each other, you know this. That’s why ya’ll decided to break up. Just get through the tour in Europe and ya’ll don’t have to see each other for a couple of months.”

“You right,” Vanjie leaned his head against A’keria’s shoulder, seeking comfort, as she draped her arm over his shoulder, giving him a tight hug. 

Silky woke from her slight slumber on the bed. Seeing her two Dream Girls hugging it out, she decided to join them. As she gave them a big bear hug, she leaned close to Vanjie’s ear. 

“... was it good, tho? Did your man suck it good? Did he take you to new… Hytes?”

“Shut the fuck up, Silk!” The shriek from Vanjie only barely covered the scream of pain from Silky as A’keria simply leaned over and gave her one of her patented Auntie Kiki disapproves slap, to the back of the queen’s head.

————————

“So…”

“Yeah.”

“Uhm.”

“I know.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“Fully aware, Nina.”

“Brooke. We talked about this.”

“Shit, I-“ Brock ran his hand over his face. Attempting to clear his head and make himself sober up a bit, “I know, just…”

“You’ve been spiralling. This whole tortured artist who drinks and smokes to forget shit is getting real old, real quick.” Nina shook the vodka flask for emphasis.

“I am trying” Brock mumbled, knowing that Nina was right, but not wanting to admit it.

“Are you? ‘Cause to me it seems like you’re self-sabotaging. You guys broke, you were the one who ended it. It sucks, but that doesn’t mean that you have to suck him. Like, you move on.” 

Nina felt like a broken record. Sure, the fact that the two idiots had somewhat made up was new, but this? Comforting Brooke over Vanjie? That had been her life ever since the reunion had happened. 

“I just miss him. I see him almost everyday, and I still miss him.” His voice was small. Nina knew that this level of emotion was only reserved for drunk Brock, as he always his behind his mask of professionalism during the day.

“I know. But hon, he moved on. You can’t keep doing this to yourself. You’re supposed to be having the time of your life, not moping over your ex. You’re our reigning queen.”

“It hurts,” Nina sighed, knowing that this could take the rest of the night. Already dreading the morning with rehearsals and meet & greet’s. 

“Right, but you need to stop this,” Brock finally looked up at Nina, exasperated. 

“How? We have Europe after this week”. Which was true, the three queens saying yes to dxp months ago, way before the reunion, when Branjie seemed like the best of friends. 

“Okay…” Nina looked around the hotel room, searching for something that she could use. Her eyes spotted a notebook lying on the top of the side table next to the bed. She quickly got up from the floor, her knees cracking and her back aching. Reminding her that drag did not do a body good. 

“Right… so here’s what you’re going to do!” Nina grabbed the notebook and threw it down to Brock, who amazingly caught it.

“You are going to write down all of these feelings. All of these memories. Just all the stuff that want to tell him. Write it down on those pages. See it as an outlet, a way for you to get it all out…”

“Right and-“

“And then you are going to cut down on those cigarettes. And Jesus, will you please slow down with the drinking. Please. If not for yourself then for me” Nina stared into Brock’s eyes, searching for some affirmation that he understood what she was saying. 

“Okay,” He was nodding slowly, donning a wry smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. 

“Promise me,” Nina wasn’t dumb, had known Brock for too long, to let him find a loophole.

“I promise.” Nina just looked at him unimpressively. “Okay. Fine. I promise you that I will cut down on the cigarettes, slow down the drinking and write in the goddamn notebook. Happy?”

“Immensely.” She could see that he wanted to ask her. But that he was too proud, so she threw him a lifeline.

“Do you need me to stay?”

“Please.” The look of sheer gratitude on Brock’s face told Nina all she needed to know, as she helped him get up from the floor, tucking his long body into bed, and cuddled into his side, hoping that her nearness would give him some sense of comfort. 

_These two idiots._

—————————

“What’s the Tee, Christine?” Silky looked at Vanjie with knowing eyes. A’keria had left them alone, stating that she couldn’t deal with their bullshit, warning them that they shouldn’t wake her unless Oprah showed up. 

“... I just… have you looked at him lately?” Vanjie was lying on his back, staring at the ceiling, looking almost lost.

“Sure. Blond wig, unclockable mug and them dance moves… he fine, he always been fine.” Something that Silky would never admit to the Canadian’s face, but he trade. That wasn’t a secret.

“No… like… you seen his face? Like them bags under his eyes the size of Michelle’s titties? How he be drinkin’ like it’s Mardi Gras up in here?” Vanjie looked at her searchingly. 

“Well…”

“He ain’t right, Silk. I worry bout him.” 

“Vanj. That ain’t yo job no more. Not yo monkey and defo not yo circus.” Which was true. But Silk has noticed. And she was worried too, it Vanjie didn’t need to know that.

“But what if I want it to be?”

“Then you a stupid ass bitch, who makes bad choices”

“Ain’t that the truth.” Banjie huffed, smiling sadly.

“But boo… if you went them cookies, then go get those cookies, ya know,” Silky knew that she wasn’t helping, but she couldn’t stand to see that sad face on the otherwise happy tornado of energy that was Vanessa Vanjie Mateo. 

“What, but A’keria-”

“Is right. And yo is a stupid dick hungry queen who should be spending time getting pounded by some unknown twink in every new city… but if ya want that Canadian bacon? Then go get it. Munch, munch, crunch, crunch, bitch.”

Silky and Vanjie looked at each other for a beat, before they cackled louder than two seagulls who had just seen some fresh fish.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Vanj, we dated, of course, I know where you put your emergency lube. Now, are we gonna fuck or not?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Choo fucking choo, the smut and drama train has officially left the station. Get ready guys, cause this is going to hurt from now on. Hope you like all of this. I am certainly having fun. Please comment below if you have anything you like, hate or want to discuss.. I am all here for it. <3 <3

“Steve. I’m fine” Brooke was in her dressing room, looking over her makeup, ensuring that everything was perfect for the meet and greet. Steve had called her 20 minutes ago and had spent 15 of those minutes grilling her, trying to figure out if she was okay.

Which… She was, she was completely okay.

“ _Don’t lie._ ” Steve’s voice was unimpressed and Brooke just knew that she had to cut the bullshit.

“Okay. I am very much not fine... But Nina is here. And you- you can’t just drop everything, every single time I am an idiot or feel like shit. I’m handling it.” Which was somewhat true. She hadn’t even thought about drinking since yesterday, even though she had to spend the day on a bus with all her season 11 sisters - which, of course, included Vanjie.

Two days sober. That was something, right?

A start.

“ _You betcha I could. And will, if you need me to. I just worry. Nina texted me, you know,_ ” Bless her heart. Nina worried more than most and had spent all of yesterday helping her hungover ass get through the gig and get on the bus for the next city. Broock owed her everything.

“I know… We have a week left of this tour and then I have the two shows in Montreal couple before I need to leave for London. I’ll be fine.” At least, that was what she wanted to believe.

“ _And Vanjie?_ ”

Steve always saw right through her.

“Is there? Will be there? How would I know?” Brooke tried to go for the nonchalance but knew that Steve clocked it.

“ _Brock…_ ”

“Just. I’ll be fine.”

“ _Right. Call me if there is anything, ‘kay?_ ”

“Yeah… Steve? Don’t tell Jason,” Brooke knew, that she was giving away more than she wanted, but she couldn’t deal with Vanjie's manager knowing how bad she was actually doing.

“ _... I won’t. Love you. Remember to call!_ ”

“Love you, too! And I will. Bye!”

Brooke placed her phone back down on the table, sighing to herself. She just had to get through the next month, and then she wouldn’t have to deal with her ex for a while. She could do that.

Her eyes fell on the notebook that she had put in her back as an afterthought before she left her hotel room. Maybe Nina was right, maybe she just needed to get it out on paper.

She grabbed a pencil, opened the non-descriptive black notebook to the first blank page.

“Fuck, I feel like a teenager…” she mumbled to herself, as she put the pen to the paper, letting her words flow.

_"I think what I miss the most is waking up with you. Seeing you fight against the morning, wanting to stay in bed just a little longer.  
The way your arms would wrap around me like a goddamn octopus. Shit. I miss that…”_

* * *

“Yo! Any of you got a post-it?” Vanjie’s loud voice cut through all the chatter in the two conjoined dressing rooms, making all the dolls turn their heads to see what the energetic queen was up to.

“What the fuck do you need a post-it for bitch? You want them ready, so you can get the number for this week’s trade?” Yvie said with a big grin on her face, the rest of the room chuckling as her signature laughter bubbled out of her.

“Fuck off, Miss Yvie!” She didn’t need comedy hour, she needed a motherfucking post-it. Searching the faces of all the girls, they all shook their heads at her, indicating they didn’t have any of those stupid ass yellow notes, that she so desperately needed.

_These bitches._

“Really, none of you? What’s a girl to do to get some stationary up in this hoe? LIAM?!” As Vanjie screamed for the tour assistant, she knew that she was making a scene, hollering after post-its, when she could just as easily get a piece of paper from somewhere.

“Yeah, Miss Vanjie?” The cute and small assistant that Vanjie would have clocked, fucked and cocked in a different reality, poked his head in, smiling at her.

“We got any post-it’s around?” Vanjie dropped her voice an octave or two, trying to seem more flirty, hoping that it would help her.

“Why? You need paper to memorise the numbers for your trade?” The moment the words had left Liam’s mouth, the room erupted into hollers and laughter.

“Shade. Ya’ll some shady ass bitches.” Vanjie shook her head at all of them.

“Gurl, we seen all them marks on you, we know what you up to!” Raja called from the back of the room, as she blended her contour.

Vanjie felt a weird sense of annoyance and gratefulness, as it meant that the girls had seen the marks that a certain Canadian vampire seemed to have left all over her neck. Yet, none of them seemed to even consider that it could have been Miss Hytes who had left them.

“For real tho. Post-it’s, anyone?” A packet of yellow post-its flew through the air, hitting her squarely in the chest. Nina. West. The look she sent Vanjie was undecipherable, but not one Vanjie had the time to go all da Vinci code on.

“Thank you. Now why we had to go through that as if this was some dumb ass bit on SNL? Ya’ll hired Amy Poehler or somethin’ to come with the next read at me?”

Vanjie went back to her station clutching those goddamn post-its as the rest of the room once again erupted into laughter.

Get. Those. Cookies.

* * *

  
_**Room 719. After the show. V** _

One line and five words. Scrawled on an insignificant yellow post-it, attached to her foundation.

Brooke knew that chicken scratch well, her heart beating irregularly at the memory of seeing that scrawled over notes and papers in her flat. Was this what she thought it was?

A fucking post-it booty call?

Oh, the irony.

She became absolutely sure of the intent behind the note, as she found some yellow crumpled up notes in the trash can in the room.

_~~**Get these cookies in the supply closet** ~~ _

**~~_You need an extra serving of sausage?_ ~~ **

Brooke could just imagine it. Vanjie with her tongue sticking out, trying to figure out the best way of articulating herself.

And it had worked. It had gotten Brooke to carefully place the note in her bag. It made her de-drag with a weird sense of anticipation. And it had made Brock end up outside of room 719 close to midnight, wondering what the fuck he was doing.

“What am I doing, what am I doing, what am I doing?” Was what Brock whispered to himself standing outside the room, finally getting the courage to knock on the door after he had stared at it for almost ten minutes.

The door opened faster than Brock was prepared for, coming face to face with José, who was standing in his standard barely-there tank top and booty shorts.

“That took you long enough! Where your room at, the North Pole or what? Jesus, Brooke.” His annoyed voice seemed more like an act than anything, smiling slightly at Brock, as he moved to let him into the room.

“I wasn’t sure that I was going to show up,”

“Me neither,”

Brock felt weird standing in the middle of the room, realising that he was here to have sex with his ex and nothing more. What had happened in the dressing room was somewhat easier to deal with as it had been a spur of the moment decision. This was… weird.

“This is weird.” It was difficult to even look the smaller man in the eye, as Brock could feel every cell in his body screaming at him, to not do this to himself.

“That 'cause you be making it weird. Ain’t nothing weird about two hoes wanting to burn off some steam.” Casual sex with your ex, whom you were also ridiculously in love with seemed like the worst idea. Brock knew this.

But that smile.

“There is if they broke up six months ago.” If asked, he wouldn’t have been able to answer why he was arguing for them to not do this. He had shown up at José’s door, he knew what he was doing.

“That irrellelevant-irrelav… That ain’t important, Mami.” The Puerto Rican was not letting Brock leave, and he could feel his resolve weakening by the second.

_Fuck, he missed him._

“What are we doing?” Brock was grasping at straws, knowing that any second he would give in and bury himself in José, knowing that it would only start to hurt tomorrow.

“Well nothin’ right now, but if you move your ass over here you could be doin’ me?”

“José…”

“Nah-uh. You wanna talk about feelings and big words you leave. You wanna take me to church and use your dick to make me see God… You stay. Easy-peasy, lemon-squeezy, Mary.” Something inside of Brock snapped as he looked at the mischievous smile, that José was sending his way.

He walked calmly over to the suitcase that was placed in the corner, clothes lying everywhere as if the case had exploded after having been opened.

Classic Vanjie.

“What you looking for over there? The cookies are over here.” Vanjie sounded annoyed, and Brock could feel his hands itching to spank the brattiness out him. He rifled through the suitcase, knowing that he would find exactly what he needed.

“You talk too much,” was what Brock mumbled back, as he finally found what he had been looking for. He straightened up and walked back towards the smaller queen, throwing the bottle on the bed.

“Wha- oh! You knew I had put it there?” José had to crane his neck to look him in the eye, something Brock relished, as it gave him a surge of power.

“Vanj, we dated, of course, I know where you put your emergency lube. Now, are we gonna fuck or not?” He softly grabbed his chin, marvelling as the softness of his skin after weeks of being in drag every night. Trust José to always look amazing.

“Mami, I’ve been waiting for you for hours,” He tried to come off annoyed, but just ended up sounding whiny, something that Brock was used to.

_Shit, he had missed his whiny queen._

“You’re so fucking high maintenance.” Their lips were almost touching, as Brock whispered the words, sounding more amused than anything. Knowing that he was in perfect control.

Knowing that he would not feel like that come morning.

“When you know yo’ worth, you don’t settle, Boo.” It was said in the softest voice, a voice that no one ever really got to hear from the smaller queen. His breath hitching and his pupils were blown.

Brock smirked lightly at José. He had him right where he wanted him.

* * *

  
“Any of you seen Vanj?”

“She be having a headache, and wanted to snooze it off.”

“Funny lil coincidence when Miss tall glass of Canadian milk is also absent”

“I don’t know whaddya talkin ‘bout, Kiki. Why you be Nancy Drew’ing up this joint?”

“Uh-huh. She being a stupid hoe, ain’t she?”

“Munch munch, Crunch crunch, Bitch”

* * *

“Fu-uck, I’m ready.” Vanjie keened, trying to get his hands free from the tight grip that Brock had on them with his hand while the fingers on his left hand kept José right at the edge.

He was slowly and meticulous pushing his fingers in and out, making sure that he hit all the right places, as he stretched Vanjie.

“You’re ready when I say you are, Papi.” Was what Brock whispered against the smaller man’s lips, enjoying the hitched gasps it drew out of him.

“Please… please. I need it.”

He was almost straining off the bed, the only thing keeping him there was the comfortable and well-known weight of Brock. He was in complete control of everything, and José felt his whole body relax, knowing without a doubt that he would be taken care of.

Brock finally took mercy on him after having spent the better part of an hour teasing and touching José. He quickly put on the condom and entered him. They both took a couple of seconds to bask in the familiarity of this. How it felt like two pieces of a puzzle finally clicking into place.

“Ah. Shit. Fuck, that’s good.” The deep and hard thrusts made the bed rock with the motion, as Brock finally let José have control over his hands again, needing both of his arms to keep himself steady.

Biting and scratching, nibbling and thrusting. They were both lost in a rhythm that they knew so well, becoming one, as they raced towards the goal of much-needed release.

Suddenly Brock twisted them around, so José was riding him, which made both of them groan at the new depth of the trusts. His hands clawed at the chiseled chest, trying to commit all of it to memory, feeling euphoric as Brock took him closer and closer.

No one had ever come close to giving him this.

_Only Brock._

Brock’s hand took José’s dick in his hand, making the Puerto Rican groan with pleasure. He worked his hand up and down, knowing that he was close and just needed that final push.

“Come for me. Do it.” The commanding tone was enough, as José came over his chest, Brock following him shortly after.

They were both breathing heavily, as José rolled off him, trying to come back down from the high he had just experienced.

“That was…”

“Amazing-“

“Yeah...”

“Fuck…”

They both just stared up at the ceiling. Their bodies thrumming with endorphins, heartbeats synchronised, as their breaths slowed down.

* * *

“Have you seen my shirt?” Brock was standing in the middle of the room, wearing these ridiculous pleather shorts, that made his ass look good, while also making him look a bit silly.  
Classic Boy Brooke Lynn.

“Mami, how would I know about yo shirt. I was busy.” José was still lying on the bed, naked as a jaybird, not caring that he looked fucked out, his hair moussed, neck littered with almost purple hickeys.

“You threw it?” The tall Canadian looked unimpressed at José, as he wasn’t a big help in finding the top.

“Brock. I was focusing on yo dick inside me, not that ugly-ass T-shirt.” Shrugging, he finally found the strength to sit up in the bed. Catching his reflection in the mirror he saw the marks all over his neck. Brock gave a victorious cry, as he found the offensive article of clothing that he deemed appropriate as a top.  
  
“Behind the couch? How?” He mumbled as he put on the ill-fitting grey top, José touching his neck, trying to remember when they had been made.

“Why you fucking marking my neck? Goddamn, hickeys? You a vampire or some shit? You getting all sparkly in the sun and going to go all twilight-moon-sun shit on me?,” Brock just smiled at José’s outburst, not feeling an ounce of shame. He wanted to mark him, needed it, so he would have proof that this had happened.

“For real tho, the girls will all think I am getting pounded by trade in every single city, now,” To be honest, they already believed that, as José thought back to how they had all given him shit over the stupid ass post-its.

“Are they wrong?”

“You a hoe. But really, this is gonna be a bitch to cover up,” They both looked at each other and burst out laughing. This felt so normal, so right. As the laughter slowly died, as did the light in Brock’s eyes.

“Right, I’ll be going.” For some reason, this came as a shock to José, as he only just noticed that Brock had put on all his clothes again. Even though he knew that it was he who had made it quite clear that all of this was just sex, he found himself wanting it to be different.

“Boo, you can stay.” He tried to make the invite seem sexual as he draped himself over the bed while licking his lips. But really, he was just hoping that he could be held by Brock. The way they used to.

It was the only place he had ever really felt safe.

“No. I… really couldn’t.” He slowly backed away from the room, shaking his head with a sad smile plastered across his face.

“Excuses, Mami,” He was grasping at straws, he knew it. But he just wanted to be held for a night. Brock turned around, walking the last two steps to the door, his hand resting on the doorknob.

“See you on the bus tomorrow, ‘Ness.” He didn’t look back at the man on the bed. Just said it softly, as he opened the door and walked away.

The soft click of the door loud as a bomb, as José felt his heart skip a beat or two.

“I’ve gone and done fucked up, bitch!” He whispered to himself, knowing that this could not in any possible way, end well.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Were you always such a bratty little bitch?”
> 
> “Were you always this stupid a hoe?” 
> 
> “Really?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut, angst and you know. Silky trying to save everyone from heartbreak.

When they had been on the show, the only place they could be together was in the van and in front of the cameras. That meant that they couldn’t do anything in private, they could not in any way talk it through behind closed doors. Not until after they left the show.

So it was kind of liberating, to be able to talk behind closed doors. To be each other’s secret. At least that was what Brooke told herself. That was what she reminded herself again and again, as Vanjie ignored her at the venue.

As she let everyone believe that the hickeys on her neck were made by some unknown guy from Seattle.

As she flirted with every good-looking guy at the meet and greet.

That at least they had the hotel room in the evening. That was theirs. Even if Vanjie didn’t want to address what they were doing. Even though it was only sex.

Even though Brooke was falling apart.

They had their fucking post-it booty calls for themselves with absolutely no audience.

Walking into her dressing room after the show made her immediately search for the yellow post-it that she had come to expect after the last three days.

**_Silk wants to party tonight, need to make an appearance. Room 349 at 2 AM? - V_ **

The problem with being in hiding was that Brooke felt like a dirty little secret. As if she wasn’t even worth being acknowledged in public.   
As if Vanjie knew that Brooke wasn’t good for her.

Taking off her wig, she found her notebook, the pages rapidly getting filled with everything from sappy love letters to angry messages and too real emotional spiels.

> **_I wish I could stop. You deserve better. You deserve someone who can give you everything. Worship your beauty and insanity in the same way that you would give it in return. It has always been clear to me that you didn’t feel that I could do that. I don’t think you’re wrong._ **
> 
> **_But that doesn’t mean that it doesn’t hurt. I hate leaving you every night. I hate how dismissive you are whenever I want to talk about this. I HATE THAT I CANNO-_ **

Tears started to fall down on the notebook, Brooke stopping as her breath hitched. She looked in the mirror and saw the streaks of tears creating cracks in the perfect mask of Brooke Lynn Hytes. Staring back to the page she once again picked up the pen. Only to drop it as a sob wracked through her body, making her crumble in on herself.

This time the door was locked. This time no one saw her break down.

* * *

“Bitch, the guy to you left, mesh top, booty shorts and a dirty smile is looking at you like he wants to eat you up. Go get him!” Silky nudged Vanjie in her unsubtle style, probably letting the whole club know, that she was trying to set up her friend.

“Silk… I ain’t lookin’,” Vanjie groaned, not even looking back at the man at the bar, knowing that he was probably her type, but not caring about that right now. She would get her dick somewhere else tonight.

“Why? You gon go back to your tall piece of Canadian ice cream?”

“SILK! SHUT UP - don’t be broadcasting it to the whole goddamn bar!” Vanjie looked frantically at the people around them, trying to figure out if they had heard what her annoying but still good Judy had said.

“So you are?” The unimpressed look that silky was giving her made Vanjie feel like the jig was up.

“Bitch, I might?” Vanjie tried to shrug it off, not wanting to get into this with Silk at the bar. Especially because A'keria and Nina were having fun somewhere around here, and Vanjie just couldn't deal with the fact that they might overhear some of this.

“What the hell? What are you doing? America wants to know, miss Vanjie.”

“I am gettin’ that good dick like you said. Crunch crunch, munch munch, or whatever, bitch.”

“I meant one time, bitch. Good dick? That all you want from Miss motherfucking Hytes?” That raised eyebrow told Vanjie that Silky could smell her bullshit.

“...”

“Thought not. So you bein’ a dumbass hoe who wants her man back, but ain’t ready to commit to dealing with his sappy lil white boy commitment issues?”

“Silk, why you gotta be coming so hard for me?”

“You know this is stupid. Go talk with the trade over there. He won’t create any problems.”

“Silk…” She knew that Silk was right. That she should just forget about Brooke, go her own way and find a new man. But fuck, he was right there, and she... She just fucking missed him.

“Trust me. You going back to that pasty ballerina is going to bite ya in the ass. You better be motherfucking ready for that. This hiding shit will blow up.” Alcohol was like a truth serum to Silky, two drinks in and she was not holding back.

“I ain’t hiding, hoe!” She yelled, pointing her finger in her friend's face, causing a scene, but not caring anymore because she was annoyed.

“You is. You hidin', Miss Mateo.”

“Just let me live, Mary!”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Because this be the only way. He don’t want to deal with my clingy ass. He wants to go all wham-bang-thank-you-ma’am. I be givin’ him that. If he wants Miss Vanjie on the down-low, I’m gonna give it to him,” Vanjie was willing to go through a lot of pain just to get some part of Brooke.

“And you’re just fine about all this?”

“Don’t matter.”

And before Silky even had a chance to say anything else, Vanjie left. She didn’t want to deal with the judgement and seriousness of Silky.

She was right. Vanjie was being an idiot, and there was no way that she wouldn’t be catching feelings for him again.

But… If writing these goddamn stupid yellow post-it’s were what she had to do to see just a glimpse of him, then she would keep on doing it.

* * *

This had become a pattern. It was the third time that they met. Always in José’s room, always at his request. Always just sex.

Brock was on day four of being sober, and he was managing.

_Barely._

It had been difficult saying no to the shots of tequila, but he had managed.

 _Barely._  
  
“So when’s your plane leaving?” José was lying, freshly fucked on the bed, still naked, toying with the duvet as he looked at Brock getting ready to leave. This was the last evening for Brock on the tour, and they wouldn't see each other for over a week before.

None of them really wanted to think about that or talk about it.

“At 7,” Brock looked up at him from the chair he was sitting on, tying his shoes. Knowing exactly where this was going.

“AM?”

“No, PM,” Brock could feel the trap, even see it, but did nothing to avoid it.

“Then get back in here, Mami. That was just round one!” He was slowly crawling to the edge of the bed, like a predator luring in its prey. Brock felt enticed, but still fought against the desire building in the pit of his stomach.

“Can’t.”

“Nah, Boo. You just won’t,”

“Vanjie… What the fuck are we doing?” The sigh from the bed was loud, as Brock once again tried to figure out what the deal was with this situation, knowing that José would probably stop any form of real conversation on the topic.

“Right now, not a whole lot, but you could be making me scream and get your jush if you would just sashay them toes over here,”

“Right.”

“Brooke…. Brock. Why you gotta be wanting to talk about this? What is there to say? We know we bad together, but the sex is good, so why not just enjoy it, mama?”

“Yeah… I-I need to pack,” José smirked at the stutter, knew that he only had to give one more push and he would win.

“Just say you don’t wanna get with this. No need to be lyin’. I know you packed all your shit before you even contemp-conteta… Before your ass even decided to go down and give me all the Canadian bacon.” José’s hands were running all over his own body, and Brock could feel himself let go. Could feel his resolve leave him, as he wanted to teach the smaller queen a lesson. His fingers already tingling with anticipation of what he knew was to come.

“Were you always such a bratty little bitch?”

“Were you always this stupid a hoe?” The wink in his eyes was what made Brock walk closer to the bed. Toeing off his shoes as he went.

“Really?” He stopped in front of José, grabbing his chin forcibly, making him gulp in anticipation. The tendons in his neck were strained, his eyes glazed over.

A feeling of power overcame Brock, as he slipped into the dominant role with ease. Part of him realised that José had played him, as he was now giving in to what he wanted, but he also knew that there was no possible way that he could walk away from the room just yet.

“I guess someone needs a little lesson in how to show respect,” He leaned down close, all up in José’s face, seeing the anticipation, want and pure glee at getting what he wanted. It made him smirk as he used the hand on José chin to push him back on the bed.

“All fours, middle of the bed. Now.” He took a deep breath, centring himself, knowing what he had to do, as José scrambled to follow his orders. Quickly settling on the bed, his skin already flushed with excitement, as his cock was slowly rising to the occasion.

“Yes, Mami,”

The slap to his ass was instant and the noise of Brock’s hand making contact with the soft skin filled up the otherwise quiet room. The gasp from José told Brock that he had guessed correctly in what the Puerto Rican needed.

“Don’t get cheeky with me. You’re being a whiny little bitch, and whiny little bitches get what?” All he got in response was shallow and excited gasps.

_Slap._

“Use your words, Papi,” he slowly caressed José’s soft ass, trying to rub away some of the hurt, knowing that it helped in building the excitement.

“Th-they get spanked,” The stutter told him that he had José exactly where he wanted him. Brock was in awe over the trust the smaller queen still seemed to have in him, despite it being over six months since they had last done this.

“Right. I am thinking... ten. That should be enough to remind you, hmm?” He walked around the bed, so he could look him in the eye, as he sat down on the bed. “Now I want you to count them out and say thank you after each one, can you do that?” He leaned in and whispered this against his cheek, letting his nose and lips softly caress the soft skin.

“Yeeeeeesssssss,” Brock smiled softly, the soft hiss portraying the desperation that José was feeling.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, Mami,”

“Good, and you remember your colours, Papi?” This was important, he couldn’t expect everything to still be present in José’s mind, it having been so long since they last had played like this.

“Green, good, Yellow, slow down, Red, bad.”

“Good,” With a soft kiss to José’s cheek he got back up from the bed, walking back around, getting ready.

All that could be heard was the gasps from the bed, as Brock was feeling calmer than he had in ages. He waited.

For the right moment.

Until...

_Slap._

“One, thank you, Mami.” Brock relished the feeling in his hand, the light pink hue on José’s skin, and the choked ‘thanks’ he was given.

Softly running his hand over the soft brown skin, he took a moment to marvel at the contrast between them, how José exuded warmth, while Brock gave off an aura of cold.

Gathering himself, he started rapidly spanking him. The room filled with counting and “Thank you, Mami”, Brock feeling proud of how well José was taking this, wanting to stop this right, and take him right there on the bed.

“Ten, th-thank you, Mami,” He was almost shaking there on the bed, as he was almost overwhelmed with sensation.

"Colour, babe?"

"Green"

Brock quickly unzipped his shorts, grabbed a condom and entered José, who was still slick and slightly stretched from earlier.

They both groaned, the feeling of their connected bodies almost overwhelming. Gripping his hips, Brock started thrusting hard, knowing that they were both close, that it wouldn’t take them long.

“You were so good. You did so well,” Jose ́s moans were getting louder as he was getting closer and closer to his release, the praise pushing him over the edge as he came over the sheets.

With two more thrusts, Brock followed leaning over the smaller man’s back, his lips softly gracing his ear, Brock’s mind was filled with a single sentence. Words he knew that he could never say to José.

_I love you._


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wait.
> 
> Brock.
> 
> In his bed.
> 
> “Mothershitting fuck ass titties. What you have gone and did, Miss Vanjie!?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry... Not sorry? 
> 
> Enjoy you guys.

The water was cascading down his back, the warmth releasing some of the tension that had built up there as a consequence of weeks of non-stop drag. Normally he would lean back and just bask in the sheer therapeutic power of a good and long shower. But right now he had other things to do.

His arms were softly running up and down José’s back, lathering him in soap, slowly working out any tension that was still residing in the smaller man’s body.

Placing a small kiss on his forehead he allowed himself to bask in this being allowed to see José like this.

Loose, soft and quiet.

This always happened after they had done something more aggressive.

Whenever they played a little rough, José would be a bit more clingy, almost emotionally raw. He needed touch and comfort to settle comfortably back in his body.

“You did so well, you were so good, baby,” Brock had subconsciously fallen into his old role as a doting partner. Praising and comforting José, not caring that doing this now would be painful in the morning.

“Babe? You wanna go to bed?” He felt the small nod against his chest and turned off the water.

If Brock didn’t know that this was how José reacted, he would have been scared by the eerie silence of him. But he knew what was going on and just kept being there to steady him. To slowly bring him back to the present.

Drying off the smaller man, he gently guided him back to the bed, caressing his cheek and tucking him in, just as he was about to get up from the bed in search of his clothes a hand grabbed his arm.

“Stay.” His eyes were pleading with Brock.

So he did. He got into bed and gathered José in his arms. His heart filled with a mixture of love and heartbreak. Feeling as if he had finally come back home, while also realising that it was only temporary.

This would hurt tomorrow. But right now that didn’t matter. Right now all that mattered was taking care of José.

* * *

He woke up slowly, feeling comfortable and warm. He snuggled into the hard planes of Brock’s chest - feeling comforted by the steady rise and fall, it almost killing him back to sleep.

Wait.

Brock.

In his bed.

“Mothershitting fuck ass titties. What you have gone and did, Miss Vanjie!?” If José had been more awake, he would have been impressed with how low his voice was as he cursed himself out - not even waking up Brock.

He tried to move, but the hand around him only tightened, making it even more difficult to get away.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he whispered to himself, knowing that he needed to think of something to do before Brock woke up.

“José, babe?” The groggy voice from behind him took him back, making his heart skip a beat.

_Shit._

Also what?!

“Fuck shit, wow. I am-“

“Brock, don’t I’m just so-“

“Sorry.” They said it at the same time, José almost screaming it, while Brock

They had both moved as far away from each other as they could without falling out of the bed.

For a fraction of a second, José could see some unidentifiable emotion in Brock’s eyes, but then he blinked and it was gone. The mask of indifference was back.

“Right, uhm. Yeah. I better. And uh…” he got up

“You have a plane you need to catch. Gotta get them maple syrup coins, bitch!”

“Yes, plane. Okay. Yeah.” Brock got up from the bed, his naked body quickly walking across the room to get to his clothes. José tried not to stare at his perfect ass and abs, but he knew it was a lost battle.

“Right, so when you be in London? Monday?”

“Yeah, I think so, gotta check with Steve though. You?”

“Jason gonna be escorting me like the motherfucking queen I am from Monday. He don’t think I can keep outta trouble on my own. I told him that he was boo boo the fool, cause trouble finds me like flames find fire, you know what I’m saying, Mami?” The small smile on Brock’s face told him that he had probably said something wrong, but it didn’t matter, cause he was smiling.

At him.

Fuck it.

As Brock had all his clothes on and was on his way out the door, José got up from the bed, naked and not giving a damn.

“Yo, Brooke Lynn?”

“Hmm?”

And then he kissed him. With everything he had. Pushing the taller man into the door, wanting to savour the taste of his lips and the feel of his body against his - not sure if this would be the last time. Ensuring that if it was that he would remember it all.

Brock quickly got over his shock and kissed him back filthily. Grabbing and pulling. Touching and feeling.

No talking, just sighs and the sounds of their lips meeting again and again.

They slowed down.

Softly pecking each other’s lips.

Until.

“José-” Before Brock even had a chance to finish his sentence, a finger was placed on his lips, effectively shutting him up.

“Shhh. See you in London, bitch. You gotta catch that plane.”

* * *

Brock almost stumbled his way back to his room. His mind a big mess of love, sorrow, phantom touches and just pure want. Every cell in his body wanted to return to José’s room, so he could once again hold him in his arms and pretend that he was his.

But he couldn’t. He had ruined all chances of that.

Swallowing down all of the emotion, he turned the corner and came face to face with Nina.

Who looked him up and down, disappointment and worry radiating off of her in waves.

Brock walked around her and opened the door to his room, knowing better than to talk about his private life in the hallway.

He rushed over to his suitcase, searching for a new outfit that wasn’t last night’s clothes, his skin itching to be rid of the memory of the night, while also wanting to never let it go.

“What are you doing?” The door closed softly behind his friend.

“Nina…” Slowly gathering clothes for the plane ride, he mostly just sighed, knowing that if he turned around he would be with the patented Nina is Not Amused™ Look something he wasn’t prepared for. So he simply started changing his clothes, not caring that Nina saw him, not caring that she would look at the marks on his back and the bruises that riddled his body from a mixture of drag and fucking.

“No really. What the fuck, Brooke?” The exasperation in her voice was what made him turn around.

“I don’t know. I don’t know, okay!” With only his workout pants on he stared at her, feeling tears prickling in his eyes, trying to fight back, not wanting to once again use Nina as a shoulder to cry on.

“I know it’s dumb. I know that it’ll destroy me In the end. But I just. I can’t stop. Every time I leave, I think to myself that this will be the last time. That this time, I will tell him that I can’t do this. But I just. I’ve missed him so much, and just getting a tiny sliver of him. That’s… enough,” seeing pity on her face made Brock look down at the shirt in his hands. He was too raw for this right now.

“One thing is fucking your ex, but… Jesus, B... sleeping over?” Of course, she would end up focusing on that.

“It was… it was an accident.” Which was true, despite it sounding ridiculous, even to his own ears, and as he looked back up at her, he knew that he needed to explain it.

“I… he needed me to stay, so I stayed.” He would never do that to him. Leaving him the raw and that frail.

_Nope. Never._

“And what about your needs?”

“I need him. All the time. So I think we both got what we wanted from that.” Brock was not ready to give this up, mostly because he was scared of what would happen if completely lost José.

He started packing up his things. Though there wasn’t a lot to pack. The smaller queen had been right, he had pretty much everything ready for his trip.

“B… I-you deserve better,” Sweet and protective Nina, who just wanted what was best for him. It made Brock’s heart full of love that she cared this much for him. Even if she was wrong.

“No, I really don’t, but he does. I am just too selfish to let him go,”

“You did that last time?”

“Yet, here we are. Six months later and you and I are still talking about him. That reads as me having a problem.” Brock sat down on the bed, sending Nina a look grim acceptance. He knew that was he was doing was dumb.

“Have you tried to talk to him?”

“Yeah. He’s not interested in that, he only wants to fuck.” The self-deprecating laugh escaped Brock’s lips without his permission, “So I am doing what you said. I am writing down all the things I want to say to him. From fucking love letters and screaming matches to all these pathetic little speeches down in the notebook.” He let his head fall into his hands as he closed his eyes. Willing himself to find the coldness of Brooke Lynn Hytes.

Right now he needed the strength and indifference of that towering Blonde bitch instead of the mess of emotions that Brock was right now.

“You gonna be okay on the Europe tour?” The hand on his shoulder shook him out of his thoughts. He looked up at Nina and saw nothing but concern and love.

She was too nice.

“Yeah,”

“Will Brock also be okay?”

And knew him too well.

“... hopefully,”

* * *

José was trying to push down all his clothes, so they could fit into his suitcase.

“Every goddamn time. Did my titties grow four sizes or somethin’? How there ain’t no room, Jesus!” closing the suitcase he jumped on top of it, trying to push it together he could close it and get on his way.

“COME BERTHA!!!” He screamed as he wrestled with the zipper finally closing the last suitcase. It had only taken him 20 minutes to close.

A new record.

As he jumped back up he quickly gave the room a once over, trying to see if he had forgotten anything.

And then he saw them.

The yellow post-its that were all crumpled up on the table under the TV.

“Shit, Miss Hytes better not have seen these.”

José quickly gathered the post-its seeing the crossed-out words that he had written out before Brock had shown up.

**I’ll be thinking about them toes until I see you**

**~~We should probably~~ **

~~**I love y-** ~~

Thank God that Brock hadn’t read these.

* * *

  
Having dragged his body through check-in and security with his red hoodie draped across him like a shield against the rest of the world, Brock finally, finally, found himself sitting in his first-class seat. Ready for the four hours of quiet he would have before the Drag mania started again.

Searching for his airpods in his pocket, he came in contact with some paper.

“Huh, what’s this?” he mumbled to himself, as he extracted the paper.

 _A yellow post-it._  
  
Who’d have thought that something so insignificant would make his heart falter?

They wouldn’t be seeing each other for a week. What could he possibly want? Could it be something new?

 _Don’t get your hopes up._ His head whispered.

 _Too late._ His heart replied.

Reading the note, Brock felt as if the air had been knocked out of him.

_**Remember lube, Mami. V** _

He had probably slipped it into his pocket during the kiss farewell. The kiss that had left Brock puzzled as it was the first time they had done that since this whole thing had begun.

Brock had stupidly thought that it was because there was more to the sex than… well, sex.

Apparently, he was wrong.

_Fuck it._

“Yes, hello. Could I get a Vodka Soda, please? If you have any lemon, that would be great, thank you.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Jeez, there some Nancy Drews here. Listen, I love Brooke Lynn, she a talented hoe and she deserved the crown and them coins. But we ain’t together, and we’re good with that. So slow down your clowney fanfiction asses!” 
> 
> Vanjie sounded and looked sincere, smiling at the camera as he ended his rant with a tongue pop.

> _It’s the weirdest things that I miss. Seeing your annoyance In the morning when you realise that I’m gonna wear a black shirt once again._
> 
> _Fuck. Your loud ass laugh, when I try to be ghetto. I miss that you would always lean in for another kiss. How you would let me be vulnerable. How-_

Her phone buzzed on the table, interrupting Brooke’s sad teenage-like scribbles about her ex. She was as usual way ahead of schedule and was in full drag even though the meet and greet didn’t start in over an hour. 

Grabbing her phone, she saw the notification.

_Vanessavanjie started a live video. Watch it before it ends!_

If Nina were here, she would give Brooke a pointed look for still getting notifications whenever Vanjie did anything on Instagram.

But Nina wasn’t there.

So she quickly opened the app, immediately being met by Vanjie out of drag in some unidentified store - maybe Target? 

_“Okay, so ya’ll best be listening. Me and Silk are out in the big ass world. Yeah you guessed right, we be in target ‘cause silk is an idiot. Now, I be whispering so she don’t notice and get mad at me… So shhhh!”_ Vanjie was wearing his signature cap and tank top combo, looking gleefully into the camera. It made Brooke smile, her heart aching as she wished she could see him face to face. 

**_Bhytes has joined_ **

“Shit,” Hopefully Vanjie would be too distracted by his own shenanigans to realise that Brooke was lurking on the stream. 

_“So lemme just set the scene. Silk shows up t-to…”_ The slight widening of his eyes and the stuttering gave away that he had noticed Brooke’s presence. The smile was, however, quickly back on his face, as the comment section started being littered with _OMG BROOKE_ and _BRANJIE!_

_“Miss Silky shows up in L.A. with her big ass and her even bigger suitcase. I’m tellin’ you I could live in the suitcase like some troll or somethin’, Chile! I was gooped and gagged. I need to get myself one of them. Shit… she here shhhh!”_ The camera shook, as it was aimed at the floor, it was clear that they were in the clothes department, though where was anyone’s guess

_“Bitch. Make yourself useful and help me pick which one of these will have the pleasure of touching this ass!”_ The camera was angled, so the viewers could see Silky hold up different types of boxers. Some in blue, some in red. Some in black. 

“Fuck Vanjie! She will kill you.” Brooke whispered to herself, as she started laughing. These two idiots. She missed them. 

_“I don’t know, Mary.”_ The camera switched to the front, so his face became clear. He winked covertly - or knowing him it was more overt than anything - at the camera and quickly looked over all the comments. 

_“The people has spoken, Silk! They want that thicc ass in the blue, boo!”_

_“The people?”_

_“Instagram. Mama we live up in here!”_

_“BITCH! You shady lil’ hoe! America! Don’t be listening to this small cookie munching bottom girl! The T, Christine, is that I’ve forgotten to pack underwear!_

_“Oh that’s the story we tellin’. Then I will be all quiet about how that burrito you ate last night got you good. But okay, okay mama, live your fantasy.”_ Vanjie cackled.

_“You spreading lies again! I will not stand for this!”_ Silky tried to grab the phone, but Vanjie ran away, laughing his ass off. 

_“But Silk, me and the people like the blue. Also Brooke Lynn I see you lurking, which one you be likin?”_ The smirk that Vanjie was sending the screen made Brooke’s inside turn with lust, as her brain started to concure up different ways to wipe it back off of his face.

“You had to…” Brooke shook her head, typing her reply, as Silky’s face appeared behind Vanjie, laughing her ass off, as she tried to make Vanjie stop, though only half heartedly. 

_“Miss Hytes, don’t you dare! I know you shady, but girl!”_ There was a twinkle in Silky’s eyes and it made her realise how long it had been since she had last seen the bigger queen. Her laugh and mood always lightened up her day. Guess that was one more thing she had lost by letting Vanjie go. 

She hit send.

**_Bhytes: Ya’ll are messy. But I agree with the children. Blue. Def.”_ **

_“She sayin’ blue. Oh, she be calling us messy. Mary, gurl. Here’s the T on Miss Hytes! Now she might seem all prim and orderly with that pageant face and ballerina toes… But Jesus Mary and motherfucking Joseph. I’ve seen that apartment in-ti-mate-ly! You messy. So bish! Think about them big stones and very small windows ya’ know.”_

_“Big stones and windows… what you on about?”_ Silky was shaking her face at Vanjie, looking perplexed.

_“Ya know. Don’t be throwing with stones or whatever? My haiku ain’t working?”_ She turned away from the phone looking back at Silky. 

Something about the way Vanjie had said that. The familiarity. It made Brooke’s eyes glaze over. Shit, when had he last been in her apartment in Nashville? October? 

At least 6 months ago. 

She dropped her phone onto the table. The live still going strong, as Vanjie was now showing how Silky boxers could be used as a dress if one was willing to stretch them a bit. 

Brooke didn’t notice this, didn’t even hear anything.

Her eyes were blinking rapidly, and her breath was slightly laboured. 

It had been six months. 

“Fuck, this is getting ridiculous,” She whispered to herself, feeling an ache for a cigarette or a shot of patrone. Both bad choices. She just needed to get through this gig and then the one tomorrow. 

Then she had a whole day in Nashville before.

Before… Before she would go to Europe and try to be okay for three weeks. 

She was suddenly brought back to reality as Vanjie’s loud voice interrupted her spiralling thoughts. 

_“Jeez, there some Nancy Drews here. Listen, I love Brooke Lynn, she a talented hoe and she deserved the crown and them coins. But we ain’t together, and we’re good with that. So slow down your clowney fanfiction asses!”_ Vanjie sounded and looked sincere, smiling at the camera as he ended his rant with a tongue pop. 

Brooke immediately turned off her phone. It was funny how knowing what was real and then hearing it out loud seemed to make it more tangible. 

For some reason, Brooke had lulled herself into believing that at the end of this “ex’s who fuck” road there would be the hope of a relationship. She knew logically that it wouldn’t happen.

But that hadn’t stopped her from getting her hopes up. 

She could feel the emotions bubbling inside of her, how her heart was beating faster as it was starting to crack open, how her eyes were getting wetter and her throat was starting to feel constricted.

She did not have the time fo-

“Brooke Lynn, meet and greet is in 10 minutes!”

Closing her eyes for a second, she gathered herself, before she turned around in her chair, smiling softly at the assistent, knowing that any trace of inner turmoil was absent from her face. 

“Thank you, Linda!”

_She wasn’t called the Ice Queen for nothing._

* * *

“So you are still being a stupid hoe,” Silky was half sitting half lying down on the couch, as they were both munching on some doritos, enjoying their day off together watching “keeping up with Kardashians”, before José was leaving for London with Jason. 

“Listen, I am a 2+2 not knowing what the answer is stupid.” José sighed, hoping that Silky would let him be. 

_As if._

“That dick better be good, then.” Silk mumbled as her attention was split between Kim’s ass on the television, the chips and José idiocy.

“Chiiiiiile. He might be white, be he sure know how to move them hips if-” José stopped talked as he was hit squarely in the face by a Doritos.

“You nasty, I heard enough of that smacking on the show, don’t need no more details!” Before José could come up with an appropriate answer his phone buzzed on the table, lighting up with a notification.

Silky leaned forward as the phone was closer to her, checking if it was something important. She rolled her eyes and turned the phone to him.

_Bhytes started a live video. Watch it before it ends!_

“You still gettin’ notification on her? Gurl, why?” José grabbed the phone out of her hands, quickly pressing the notification.

“Shuddup and let me ruin myself in peace!” He cradled the phone as his screen lit up with the classic Brooke Lynn Hytes pre-show live.

_“Hi! Hi… Thank you! Aw… I love you guys, too!”_ Brooke looked amazing, as usual in her almost patented blonde wig, purple eyeshadow and red lips. 

**_Vanessavanjie has joined._ **

_“I just wanted to check in with you guys. As usual I am done way before time.”_ She kept on fiddling with her eyeshadow, which made him smile, as he knew it was a nervous habit of hers, her attention span shorter than Soju’s stint on the show. 

“Vanj…” 

“Silk, boo. Don’t at me right now,” 

_“Oh Vanjie’s here. Hey! Yeah. We’re doing a tour in Europe soon. I am really looking forward to it. Yeah, with Nina, Morgan, Detox, Monique and Meatball,”_ The chat went insane the moment she called Vanjie out. It filled up with orange hearts that made his heart ache. 

Fuck, he missed her. 

He put the phone down, sighing as he listened to Brooke talking in the background, getting ready to face the disappointment of his friend.

“So… I still love Brooke,” José’s voice wavered slightly, as he finally spoke the truth he had known to be real for a while.

“I know.” Silky nodded, while looking very unimpressed.

“We’ve been fucking for almost two weeks.” 

“Bitch. I know.”

“I don’t know what to do.” The eye roll he received spoke volumes to how some Silk was with his whiny ass.

“Ya’ll could do that communication thing. You know, listen to Kiki and ‘clear the air?’” 

“All this communicato chit chat thing won’t work. He don’t want me no more, Silk,” José

“You sure? Cause he been lookin’ pasty and not in a white boy way but in a sad way lately. Boy just won 100k and he sad? Nu-uh. That ain’t right.” 

“Don’t go all “riddle me this riddle me that” on this, Silk. We broke up, he wanted space and…”

“And now ya’ll fucking. That don’t look like space to me,” 

“I don’t know.”

“You got two choices. Either you get back your man or you find a new one. Now you is Miss Vanjie, not some sad lil nobody twink. You a queen, too. Just ‘cause Brooke Lynn has a crown, don’t make that tall glass of Canada be better than you. So what do you want boo? America wants to know.” She threw her hands out to the side in a challenging motion, trying to rile José up.

“I--I don’t know.” His voice cracked.

The room fell silent, until.

_“I just wanted to check in with you guys. Can you all have a lovely evening and I hope to see some of you at the gig tonight! Bye. Love you!”_ The screen went black, as the stream cut off. 

“Well, you best find out soon.”

\--------------------

Sitting in the window of his hotel room, Brock was smoking a cigarette, while on the phone with Steve. Trying to figure out his schedule for the coming months. 

It was nighttime and he had just gotten home from his last gig before Europe.

_“So… change of topic… Uhm. You might not remember this, but you called me at 3 AM crying last night.”_ Steve’s voice crackled over the line. Brock could feel himself tensing - what had his drunk ass said?

“I… Am so sorry, Steve,” stubbing the cigarette, he immediately lit a new one, his hands shaking with anxiety.

_“All I could gather were the words ‘José’, ‘Stones’, ‘Messy’ and oh yeah, you told me around 10 times that you love him. So… What’s up?”_

“If I told you to let it go, would you?” He took a deep drag, letting the smoke and nicotine center him, giving him strength to get through this conversation without revealing too much. 

_“As your manager… Probably not. As your best friend? Definitely not.”_

“I am being stupid, doing dumb things,”

_“On a scale from showing your dick on live to that one time in Toronto that you and I don’t talk about, how dumb are we talking?”_ The question was ended with a light chuckle, which made Brock smile wryly.

“Like that time I broke up with Jo-Vanjie, stupid”

_“Oh… No. Brock? Are you guys back together?”_

_I wish._

“We’re not,”

_“Okay…Wait?”_ Brock call almost hear the gears turning in Steve’s head, “ _No... Please don’t tell me that you guys are doing some stupid ex’es fucking each other benefit thing,”_ the sigh from Steve sounded disappointed, which instantly made Brock tense up. 

“Okay, I won’t then,”

“ _Brock…_ ”

“I know.”

_Did he ever._

“ _Jesus. Are you going to be okay for this tour?_ ” 

“Of course,” Brock tried to sound optimistic, and not convey how very much he was firmly placed in the “not-okay” section of life at the moment.

“ _You guys really need to figure this out._ ”

“There is nothing to figure out. He doesn’t want a relationship after I fucked it up the first time. So I’ll take what I can get,”

_“Even if it makes you call me drunk off your ass in the middle of the night, crying your eyes out?”_

Trust Steve to call out his messiness. 

“Hopefully that can be avoided in the future.” Brock took a long drag, blowing out the smoke as he looked at his gorgeous view of Montreal at night time.

“ _Have you guys talked about this?_ ”

“He doesn’t want to talk, so we aren’t,”

“ _This is a mess._ ”

“Uh-hu”

“ _So how are you going to get through Europe?_ ” 

“As I always do,” he could tell that Steve was worried, and he needed to end this conversation before he ended up diverting too much information that could come back and bite him in the ass later. 

“ _Sheer willpower?_ ” 

“Yeah.” And a fuck ton of cigarettes. And vodka, probably.

“ _Promise that you’ll-_

“Call if there is anything”

After hearing Steve’s goodbye, he quickly hung up and took a deep breath. 

He was right. This was a mess. But right now, Brock couldn’t and didn't want to find an alternative solution. He had missed touching and kissing and seeing Josè. He would take what he could get now, and then he could worry about his well being afterwards.

Stubbing his cigarette, he closed the window and walked over to his bed. He really needed to sleep before his flight for London tomorrow.

He eyes fell on the drink placed at his bedside table.

He took a swig. 

He would need a lot more of those to get himself through the next couple of weeks


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taking the elevator, he pressed the button for his floor, and waited for the doors to close. 
> 
> Right before they did, a hand sneaked between, opening them again. 
> 
> Brock looked up and came face to face with José. He smiled softly at him, and walked in, his back facing the door as it closed behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our stupid idiot boys are finally in London - get ready for DXP19. Just fyi. I am gonna play a little loose with the canon compliance from now on when it comes to dates and cities. So if you get a bit confused or annoyed, then know that that is why.  
> So yeah. Enjoy!

Brock knew that José had arrived In London. Not that he had received a text or anything. They had stopped doing that the moment the reunion had aired, no longer a need for coordinating appearances and social media shenanigans. 

No, the reason he knew that _Miss Vanjie_ had arrived, was because his twitter mentionings and Instagram tags had skyrocketed… not Vanjie’s, but his. 

Brooke’s. 

Somewhere in the buzzing English city, there was a tiny Puerto Rican that had stolen his heart. 

Brock was so fucked. 

Knowing that he needed to stay awake to counter jet lag, he had gone sightseeing - which pretty much just consisted of drinking coffee and looking at clothes. 

Not that he was going to buy anything. He had packed enough. 

He forced himself not to watch the lives that vanjie made, trying to wish it into reality that he still had time before José got there. 

But Jason made that impossible. 

> **_Vanj and I are here, meet at the hotel?_ **

The text came just as Brock was on his way back, needing to sit down for a moment, maybe even take a nap. 

> **_Sure. On my way._ **

Not being able to spot either José or Jason in the lobby, it was easier to simply walk up to his room, hoping that he could maybe catch a ten-minute nap. 

Taking the elevator, he pressed the button for his floor and waited for the doors to close. 

Right before they did, a hand sneaked between, opening them again. 

Brock looked up and came face to face with José. He smiled softly at him, and walked in, his back facing the door as it closed behind him. 

Brock could feel the electricity in the air. The slightly raised eyebrow created heat in his body, as he could feel himself harden.

He hated that José had that power over him. 

“So, I remembered the lube.” Brock took a step closer to him, forcing him to tilt his head to keep eye contact. 

“Good,” He stood his ground not caring that Brock was towering over him. 

For a couple of seconds, all they did was stare at each other. Letting the heat sizzle and the tension grow. Seeing promises and undecipherable words in each other’s eyes. 

Until Brock quickly grabbed José and slammed him against the wall of the elevator, only giving him a second to look surprised before he captured his mouth. 

It was rough and filthy. It was less kissing and more a battle of control. Teeth clacking and biting. Tongues wrestling and hands pushing and pulling. 

The numbers rose on the elevator, as they both ignored it, neither caring that they were in a public place. 

Ding. 

José pushed Brock away, both of them leaning against opposite walls, as the elevator opened - thankfully to an empty corridor.

Brock only raised an eyebrow at José before he walked away, not looking back to see if he would follow. 

Knowing that he did. 

* * *

The room was a testament to the last many hours of activity. Clothes were scattered all over the floor. 

A forgotten tray with coffee and wine was dismissively placed on a table.

The continuous slow creak of a bed coupled with the broken sounds of moans and encouragements were all that could be heard in the room. 

Brock was slowly and very controlled thrusting into José, taking his time as he wanted to drag this out. After having fucked each other on the floor the moment the door had closed behind them, they had moved through Brock’s large hotel room.

In a moment of lucidity they had remembered to send a text to Jason, so he wouldn’t worry about them. 

That was four hours and three orgasms ago. Now José was transformed into an incoherent mess, tears on the cusp of falling from his eyes as he was drowned in pleasure. 

“I.. can’t” he was gasping. Feeling his body ready to go again, despite all of his senses and nerves feeling overstimulated and almost frazzled. 

His eyes were begging Brock to stop, while his hands gripped him tighter, wanting him closure to him. 

“Baby, I know, you can. One more. You’ve been so good for me. One more.” Not once did Brock stop moving. Edging José closer and closer.

“Fuck, Brock-… I…” José was far gone, almost delirious with the enticing mix of pleasure and pain that Brock was giving him. 

“Colour?” His lips were trailing all of the younger man’s face, tasting salty tears that were slowly falling, Brock having taken Him further than he’d ever done since the break-up. 

He slowed down his thrusts as José was only moaning incoherently, needing to know if he had gone too far before he went all the way. 

“Come on baby, colour?” He leaned back slightly, his hands framing either side of the Puerto Rican’s face. 

As he stopped moving, the other man’s eyes opened.

“Green fuck. Shit. I don’t. Mami.. please. I can’t.” His head was moving from side to side as Brock picked up the speed, thrusting hard and deep, knowing that José was so very close and that his fall into his orgasm would be magnificent.

“Yes, you can. One more. You can do it.”

“Mami, shit.” Their bodies were slick with sweat, having been fucking on and off for hours. Brock needed to see this through, he wanted to feel the power of control, while also feeling the trust that José had in him. 

Still had in him. 

That he was willing to let him take charge, to lead him through this. 

“I know you have it in you. Come on,” he leaned down and bit at José collarbone, knowing how it drove him wild. 

The thrusts made the bed rattle, as they became more explosive. José was writhing, simply embracing the painful pleasure, trusting Brock, even though the pressure in his cock was unbearable, the thought of coming one more time making tears start to fall from his eyes, while also making his heartbeat go faster in anticipation. 

_Only Brock could do this to him._

For him. 

A sudden slap to his thigh perfectly timed with a deep thrust that hit his prostrate sent José flying. His mouth open in a silent scream, as he came. 

His whole body shook, as Brock closely followed him with a few more thrusts. 

“Fuck, ah. Yes.” 

The only sound in the room was their heavy breathing. Brock slowly rolled off Jose, the smaller man hissing as they disconnected. 

His eyes were still closed, tears slowly falling down his cheeks, soft sniffs and small gasps the only sound from his. 

“You were so good, Papi. So, so good.” Brock leaned over and slowly placed small kisses all over the silky smooth skin of José’s cheek and neck “Always so good for me. You make me so proud.” 

If there was one thing that Brock had learned through his relationship with José, it was that he needed praise. Craved it with his whole being - and Brock was never one to deny the smaller queen that. 

He always deserved it. 

“I... I… Fu-”

“Shhh… You don’t have to talk just yet. Do you want to take a shower? Or a bath?” 

The slow nod was all Brock needed. 

* * *

Soft hands were slowly gliding over his arms. 

The water was warm and had a soothing smell of lavender. José was leaning with his back against Brock’s chest, his arms cradling him, as he whispered nonsense, filling the quietness with ambience. 

It was funny. Brock was usually the worst at communication, but in this situation he turned into a pro, while José turned was almost non-verbal, his brain shutting off, as his body just felt everything. 

Slowly opening his eyes he saw the massive bathroom. The bathtub they were sitting in was massive, while the room was done in stylish grey tile with ambient light, two sinks and so. Much. space.

“Fuck Mami. Why yo bathroom bigger than the motherfucking werkroom?” He almost croaked it out, as his voice hoarse from overuse. 

The sheer space of the room made him huddle closer to Brock, needing the contact as his mind and body were still trying to come back from the high he had just experienced. 

Brock laughed, which made José’s chest flood with a warm feeling that he knew too well.

A feeling that was neither reciprocated nor useful at the moment.

Love was not useful when it wasn’t reciprocated. 

It made him pull back a little, forcing himself to not submerge himself completely into the embrace. 

Even though he wanted it.

Even though he needed it. 

“There have to be some perks of being a winner, right?” The soft voice did nothing to stop the words from getting on his nerves. 

Just because he hadn’t won didn’t mean that he deserved a shittier room than the tall, blond, and beautiful ballerina. 

“Shuddup, Holy T did this? Hoe, you best be playing me, cause I ain’t be standing from some discreminatening bull like this!” He turned around slightly, the water sloshing over the edge as he did. 

His body crying out at the small distance that was created between them. 

Trying to placate his need for touch, he placed a hand on Brock’s chest, attempting to decipher if he was being played or if Brock was actually telling him the truth. 

“Calm down, _Papi_. I paid for the upgrade myself. this is the only two days off I’ll have in like two months. I wanted to splurge a little.” An ivory hand covered his making his heart sing out with joy. 

The movement calmed him down, which unnerved José as Brock’s power over him was seemingly endless.

“Alright, then.” Slowly turning back around, José settled against Brock’ chest, enjoying the feeling of the solid abs against his back, while also feeling a knot in his stomach. 

José almost felt dizzy with the conflict between the safety that Brock’s presence created coupled with the terror of knowing that it was only temporary. 

“You good?” The kiss on his neck had made his eyes flutter closed, “that was pretty intense, even for us” 

Which was the understatement of the year. Though they had always enjoyed pushing the boundary between the two of them and the power they each had held in their relationship, it was rare for them to go all out. 

José still felt tingles all over his body, slightly disconnected from the rest of the world. 

The floating sensation of having been taken apart only to have been carefully and lovingly put back together was something that José had found himself craving with all the other partners he had. 

_But only Brock had been able to do that to him._

It made his skin prickle unease. Sex had never been a problem for them - it was a language that they both understood well and when they spoke it together it turned into poetry. 

But after, it was clear to José that they were running on borrowed time. Soon they would both realise that they couldn’t continue doing this. 

Yet.

The warmth of Brock’s embrace made him feel safe. 

Home. 

The question of how this would end could be answered later. 

Instead, José focused on the memory of the sweet nothings that the taller man had whispered into his ears. He relieved how he had cradled him after they were done. How he had prepared the bath and lifted José into the bathroom when it became clear that he was not able to stand just yet. 

“You were out of it for a while there, babe.” Brock kept his voice low, as he knew that José needed to slowly come back from his drop. His hands always kept in contact with him, as the connection would ensure that José wouldn’t crash.

_And then the motherfucking endearments._

Fuck. It was as if José had travelled back 6 months in time. If he didn’t know any better he would think that they were still together. 

But he did know better.

“Bitch, you orgasmed me outta this plane of existence or sumthin’. I ain’t sure I’ll be able to walk for a week,” Four orgasms were a tall order for anyone, and it made him glad that he didn’t have to perform in the next couple of days - otherwise, he would have trouble dancing to all his numbers. 

“That’s a hyperbole if ever I heard one,” the soft murmur held an amused tilt as if he was laughing at him.

It immediately put his guard up, his shoulder tensing. 

“A hyper-bowling what? Why you always gotta be fancy-schmancy, Miss Brooke Lynn?” José could feel the barely contained chuckles, as the arms around him softly vibrated. 

It was a small mercy that José was soft-limbed and tired, otherwise, he would have gotten into a stupid word fight with Brock. 

_Just as they used to do when they were together._

“Hyperbole… You know.. an exaggeration?”

“Boo, why not just say that? Jeez bitch, you gotta talk right!” 

“Okay, babe. _I’ll_ do that,” The teasing lilt of his tone told José that he thought it was the other way around. 

“You makin’ fun of me now?”

“No, boo,” hugging him closer, the water sloshing around them, José could feel himself getting pulled closer to sleep. 

_I missed you._

_I missed this._

_I missed us._

“You sleepy?” the soft murmur couple with a tiny kiss on his shoulder pulled him out of his thoughts. 

“Huh? Yeah… I-” His mouth was dry. He had mourned the loss of this when Brock had left the first time. 

He knew that he would never get it back again, and yet. Here he was. In this big ass bathroom surrounded by the comfort and safety that was generated by his former lover. 

“Let’s get you to bed then, _Papi_.” The return of the nicknames and the sweet talk didn’t make it any easier to distance himself from. 

Back when it had just been angry blow jobs and filthy fucking it was uncomplicated. They were just exes who fucked.

This? 

This was dangerous territory. 

As they slowly made their way from the bath to the bed José felt like he was getting pulled in every direction. 

The care with which Brock dried him off, half carried him back to the bed and tucked him in, made his eyes water slightly. 

This was the man he fell in love with. This was the man he still loved. 

It made his heartache that this Brock and the one that everyone else met didn’t feel the same way. 

That they couldn’t morph into one person. 

Into the man that José could call his boyfriend. 

“You were so good,” It was said in a soft voice, almost shyly, as strong arms enfolded him, cuddling up to him. 

It made him relax. The anxiety over what they were doing and what would happen in the morning was not important. 

The safety of these arms was all he needed. 

Even if it was temporary. 

“Mami, you was better. You always is.” He mumbled it into his pillow as he snuggled closer to Brock. 

Sleep dragging him into its open arms, as he heard Brock mumbling something, though the words were too close for him to decipher. 

* * *

The music was pulsating, and her limbs were an extension of the beat. She knew every move every breath and as the as heavy bass sneaked its way into her chest following the rhythm of her own heart she felt alive.

Alive in a way that she hadn’t felt for weeks. 

Months. 

On the top of her toes, she felt as if she was standing on the highest point of the world. The crowd’s yells and hollers giving her life and energy.

She owned them right now.

Here on this stage, she was everything. 

A ballerina, a performer and a queen. 

Jumping, doing the splits and pirouettes. 

She knew this performance inside out, had done it countless times at different venues in various countries, but this time it was different. 

This time it meant something, as she caught a glimpse of _her_ in the corner of her eye. 

Vanjie watching her every move from the audience with that childlike wonder that always appeared on her face when she watched Brooke do ballet. 

It made her mind stop for a moment. 

She was here, Vanjie was here.

They had finally started to rekindle the fire that they had lost before, and-

Crack. 

Brooke went from feeling like she could walk on air to suddenly falling to the ground. 

Her body hit with a loud thump, her hands taking the brunt of the impact. 

A sudden sharp pain, made her look down at her feet. 

The left was bent in an odd angle and she could see a small piece of bone stick out. 

Her face turned ashy, as the wave of pain hit her, almost drowning her in sheer agony. 

All sounds disappeared except as the beat of her heart became a cacophony in her mind along with the evermore increasing pain. 

She screamed.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything was pain. 
> 
> Black spots were appearing in her vision, as she both felt present in her body, while also floating somewhere outside of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The response for the last chapter was amazing. Hope that you'll like this one too. <3

Everything was pain. 

Black spots were appearing in her vision, as she both felt present in her body, while also floating somewhere outside of it. 

She could feel the lightning strikes of a sheer agony running up her leg.

But at the same time, she was also being able to admire the whiteness of the bone and how it contrasted so beautifully with the black of the catsuit. 

Everything seemed to be moving - the crowd, the stage and everything turning into a blur as all she could see was that bone. 

_Brock_

How had that happened? 

_Brock, please._

He felt phantom touches on his arms, pushing them away.

_Baby, come on._

A sudden jostle made him scream in pain. The movement minuscule but enough to send flares of pure torture up his leg.

“Brock, please wake up!” 

From one moment to the other he went from screaming on that stage to lying awake in bed, face to face with a worried José. 

“Shit Mami, what you dreamin’ bout?”

Gasping and fumbling for the light, Brock didn’t answer him. He squinted against the sudden harsh light as he ripped off the sheet. 

His ankle was hurting and then suddenly... it wasn’t.

The erratic beat of his heart filled his ears, making his head hurt. 

He knew that José was talking to him, but couldn’t hear him. Couldn’t breathe. 

_Fuck._

Nothing was wrong. 

No bone. 

Just a dream. 

The sweat was dripping down his chest.

_It had felt so real._

“Brock. Baby. You gotta breathe right.” José’s voice was soft yet loud. Brock couldn’t concentrate as he leaned over his legs, grabbing the ankle, swearing that he could still feel the moment the bone had pierced his skin. 

“Shit… my foot, my-“ He couldn’t look at him, couldn’t turn around, the memory felt too real. His chest hitching as his mind kept replaying the snap of the break. 

_It had felt so real._

“Shh. No talkin’ before you able to breathe like the rest of us,” he could sense that José was touching him, but his mind kept replaying the sound. 

Snap.

Snap. 

Snap.

“But I-“ the black spots were getting bigger. His throat felt tight, and he could feel himself going from feeling tense to experiencing full-on panic. 

Snap.

Snap.

“Boo. You’re panicking,”

_Snap_

“Shit, Mami, imma need you to look at me.” José’s voice seemed far away, as Brock’s eye were zeroed in on his full functioning and definitely not broken ankle.

Snap.

Snap.

“No… I. My… foot-” His lungs were on fire.

He somewhat clinically registered that he would pass out if he didn’t start breathing regularly. 

But the bone. 

“Hey. You good. Just a dream. Nothin’ real. Yo foot is still smelly and ugly, and your face still cute.” José was trying to speak low, he was trying to seem comforting, but it couldn’t reach him. His eyes were glued to the ankle. 

Snap.

Snap.

“Fu-” It had been such a long time since he had last had a panic attack. He needed to get this under control. He needed to just breathe. 

But…

Snap.

“Bitch, what did I just say ‘bout speaking before yo breathing?” He could feel him moving on the bed, while also noting the alarmed tone that had appeared in his voice. 

“I…”

“Stop. Brock. Look me at me.” Suddenly his face was turned and he looked into José’s eyes. The deep brown eyes that were the definition of home and comfort. 

“Breathe. Can you do that for me, baby?” He tried to take a deep breath but it only sent him into a coughing fit. 

José was breathing in deeply, exaggerating for Brock’s sake.

“Good. You just be followin’ me. Easy peasy, just in and out. You got this.” 

For minutes they sat there on the bed. 

Faces inches apart as Brock tried to copy his breathing pattern. Trying to make his lungs realise that the air wasn’t the enemy. That breathing was a good thing. 

José eyes shone with worry. He had never seen Brock like this. So out of it. 

As he got his breath under control, he could feel his skin prickle from the intimacy of what had just happened. He felt exposed. 

It made him pull back from José. Made him avoid eye contact. 

_What the fuck was he doing?_

“Okay?” 

“Yeah, wow. Sorry.” He quickly got up from the bed, avoiding him, avoiding whatever had just happened. He felt a phantom pain in his ankle and wanted to scream. 

_Just a dream. Nothing more._

“You wanna tell me what the hell that was all ‘bout?” The care and worry in his voice made him want to cry. 

If he closed his eyes he could make himself believe that this was more than just fucking. 

That what they were doing was the beginning of a restart to their relationship and not just a mistake that kept on happening.

“I need a drink,” This was all getting too real. He could feel his frail heart already getting cracks. The glue and tape he had used to repair it after last time slowly dissolving. 

“Brock,” He was crawling over the bed, trying to reach for his hand. 

“I am getting a drink”

“B...”

He walked out of the bedroom to find the rest of the wine, using it as an excuse to also get a single moment alone. 

He knew that he was giving mixed signals, knew that José was probably sitting on the bed confused. 

But fuck, he couldn’t take the idea of getting comforted by him, knowing that it was only temporary. 

Knowing that the moment this tour was over he would go back to L.A. and Brock would…

Go somewhere else.

Finding the wine, forgotten on a table, he quickly downed both glasses. Feeling more centred after tasting the perfect mixture of sweetness and acidity on his tongue. 

“Now really-“ the loud voice from the bedroom pulled him out of his musing.

“José, I do not want to talk about this,” 

Pouring one more glass, Brock could feel all of his walls getting back in place, his armour covering him like a second skin. 

He needed to protect himself. 

Or stop this. 

Either one. 

Taking a deep breath, relishing the fact that the air didn’t get caught somewhere between his throat and lungs, he walked back into the bedroom. 

“Well that’s too bad Brookie poo, cause I ain’t asking, I’m telling. So you best sit that lovely lil ass down and start splaining. What happened?”

The worry was etched into every corner of his face, the slant of his brows and the downward turn of his mouth giving the illusion that he cared more about Brock than him just being a good lay. 

José must have gotten better at his acting since the season had ended.

“You can leave if you want,” Brock was tired. His body felt like it had run a marathon while his mind was going in circles, spiralling out of control as the horror of the dream mixed with the sweet torture of what he was doing to himself. 

Really.

Casual sex with the ex that you still love? In what fucking universe was that ever going to work out. 

“Shuddup! I ain’t leaving, so get talking.” Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he had his back turned toward him. He couldn’t look at him and see that worry. 

It hurt too much.

“My foot. I-I.. broke my foot.” It was a nightmare that he had suffered through countless of times, breaking a limb one of the biggest fears of a ballet dancer. But it had been years since he had last had it. 

“When?”

“No, in the dream. I broke my foot. In the dream. During a performance.” he could still hear it. 

_Snap_

Could still see the shock in Vanjie’s eyes as he fell.

“Babe… it wasn’t real,” A hand was tentatively running up and down his back. Brock hated how his body betrayed him, as he felt himself relax under the touch.

“But what if it had been?” 

“That stupid, cause it ain’t, no use in thinking about it, Boo… put down the wine and come back to bed.” The bed rustled lightly, as a small kiss was placed on his shoulder. 

And then one more. And more. 

“Fuck. I-I....” he could feel all his defences falling away. He could deal with the utter feeling of despair tomorrow. Tonight he could bury himself in José and hide away from the reality of what they were doing. Placing the glass on the side table he moved to turn around.

“Brock, I get it, I get all of this.” All the effort that had been put into making him relax flew out the window, as his shoulders tensed. 

“Shut up, you don’t fucking know shit-“ he moved away from the bed, standing up so he could look him in the eye.

“Stop.” It was amazing how one word could have such an effect. José looked him calmly in the eye, his face displaying too many emotions for Brock to decipher. “I get it, Mami. You think my ADD ass don’t get panicky too?”

_Of course._

“I… shit. Sorry, I’m all over the place,” all the anger left him, his shoulders dropping as he realised how stupid all of this was.

“Don’t go all Canadian on me, bitch. You remembered your meds?” 

All he could do was nod. His whole body felt heavy. The dream, the panic attack and even this conversation were catching up with him. 

“Good. Wanna came back to bed. You look dead on your feet, Mami.”

Slowly he got back into bed. José turning off the light and draping himself all over him. 

It should have felt comforting. 

His presence should have shut up the voices in Brock’s head. 

Instead, it just reinforced how much he missed this. 

Him. 

Them.

Together. 

——————

Jason has been a champ. Leaving them alone for a whole day, even though José knew that he wanted to drag them outside. 

The weather was, for once, amazing in England, and they should enjoy it while they could. 

Jason had been a Good Judy and left them alone to fuck each other into oblivion.

But even the best of Judy’s had a limit.

**_So you guys ready to actually go and get something to eat or are you still “catching” up? - J_ **

**_Shut. Up. Jason. B don’t kno u kno. So be cool - V_ **

He had left Brock in his room, needing some new clothes and a shower, and just a moment to go through the night on his own. 

The sex had left him slightly raw, the intensity and emotion had been amazing and terrifying. 

They were so good together… physically. 

There were so much trust, so much love and so much care... and yet. 

The moment you involved feelings and the mere idea of commitment, it would all crumble. Something happened to both of them when they were asked to deal with the idea of being monogamous. 

It made Brock run away and hide, while José instead started having unreasonable expectations of his boyfriend being the personification of a Nicholas Sparks novel.

It was why they had broken up.

But the sex though...

The sex was out of this world, it had been then and it was now.

There were still feelings. Still a whole lotta love. 

**_Yeah. But you best be silent and say nothin’… he ain’t looking good today. - V_ **

He didn’t. When José had left the room he had looked lost and tired in a way that he never had before. 

The nightmare had really shaken him. 

To be honest, it had also scared José. Waking up to Brock’s scream had been terrifying, and it had taken every ounce of self-control to not go into full panic mode. 

But he had managed.

Barely. 

He had wanted to talk it through with him this morning, but Brock has withdrawn from him, almost cheering with relief when Jason had written, as it seemed to give him the perfect excuse to kick out José.

His phone chimed, bringing him out of his thought spiral. 

**_Miss Vanjivanjie! Move your ass, we’re waiting for you! - J_ **

Putting on his cap, he grabbed his fanny pack and walked out of the room. 

Time to be social. 

——————

It had been a long day. 

They were their usual messy Branjie idiots. 

Shopping, doing Instagram lives and eating amazing food. 

The weather was ridiculously hot, and they were all soaked with sweat. 

That didn’t stop them from going to a club. 

Didn’t stop José from dancing all night long. 

Didn’t stop him from cosying up with every guy in the club. 

He could feel his eyes on him. The way they were tracing every inch of his body. 

He could just imagine him sitting in the corner with his beer and scowling, probably not even participating in the conversation that Jason was trying to have with him. 

He knew this game. 

Had played it multiple times. 

Smirking, he leaned closer to the tall blonde man in front of him. Seductively touching his bare chest, licking his lips suggestively. 

He could almost feel the anger from across the room.

He was cute. But José had no intention of going home with him. 

None. 

It wasn’t about the trade looking hopefully at him but instead about the scowling blonde sitting in the corner. 

He wanted to go home with that idiot. 

His idiot.

“So… you wanna get out of here?” Those words would normally have made him shiver in anticipation, but the prospect of going home with the angry Canadian was way more enticing than this hopeful hunk of a man. 

“Nah, bitch. I’m just waitin’ for this fine ‘tender to give me ma drink. Hoes gotta stay hydrated, ya know,” he kept on touching him, though. He needed the illusion, as it would turn Brock into a green-eyed monster that would give him exactly what he needed. 

A jealous Brock had always been his favourite.

“You sure?” He looked pointedly as the hand still caressing his chest, indicating that he was giving him very mixed signals.

“Oh yeah babe, I got my eyes on the prize tonight, and Mary, we ain’t leaving ‘till I’ve got it. You see that tall blonde scowling at us? Wearing a dumbass t-shirt and ridiculous shorts?” He leaned closer still, whispering in his ear, knowing how it would look from Brock’s perspective, feeling giddy with the anticipation of the night to come. 

“Yeah.”

“He my stupid idiot ex.”

“No, really?”

“Yup and imma need yo assti-asssisi… your help to make sure that he gon give me that good dick tonight,”

“I don’t think you need help, he looks ready to kill me,”

“Trust me, baby... You gon be important in helping me get what I want. Best believe. So you in?”

“You’re hot… so, why not?”

“That’s the spirit, mama!”

—————-

He was dancing. Though dry humping was probably a more apt description of what was going on. 

He had lost the blonde trade a while ago, changing partners with every number, knowing that his moves were luring everybody in and not caring.

He didn’t want them. 

New hands gripped his hips, and he followed them, ready to use the newcomer to accomplish his plan.

“I know what you’re doing,” the whisper sent a shiver through his body. He knew that voice well. 

It was dripping with promises of long nights and pleasurable pain. 

He leaned back against the arms that were circling him, slowly moving to the rhythm, wanting to turn around, but knew that the right grip would stop any attempt.

It wasn’t a part of their game. 

“Oh really, Mami. And what’s that,” grinding back into Brock, feeling his arousal, grinning because that meant that he had won.

“You’re misbehaving,” one hand went underneath his barely-there tank top, and it took every ounce of self-control that José had in him, not to turn into a puddle of want on the dance floor. 

He could feel the power and jealousy that was rolling of the blond. He knew he was in for a night. 

“And so if I am?” He was happy that the music was loud, otherwise, the whole club would have been able to hear his whiny moans. 

“Well,” the world was whispered right next to his ear, the warmth of his breath, adding to the need that José felt all over, “I guess I’ll have to punish you, then.”

His teeth softly grazed his ear, making a broken moan escape José’s lips, his eyes closing and body shivering in anticipation... 

He was ready to turn around, get on his knees and just suck him off right then and there. Not a single care about the people in the club. 

He loved it when Brooke got like this. When he was exuding dominance. 

“What are you gonna do, boo?” The arms around him tightened for a second and then they were gone. 

The loss of touch happened so quickly that it took José a moment to gather his wits and turn around, preparing himself to meet the steely gaze of a jealous Brock. 

Instead, what he found was a crowd of dancing club goers. 

Brock not anywhere in sight. 

He had left. 

_That. Fucker._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .... sorry?


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This performance was done with the sole purpose of making him jealous. 
> 
> Well. 
> 
> Mission fucking accomplished. 
> 
> However, two could play that game.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let the smut begin. 
> 
> Thanks to best Dane. And well... Enjoy.

He was waiting. His body vibrating with anger, jealousy and pure want. 

Having seen José so blatantly flirt with others had made him furious. He had barely been able to string two words together, as he tried to continue the conversation he had with Jason at their table. 

Seeing him move, grind and touch others only managed to remind Brock that he was not his. 

He had given up the right to act like a jealous boyfriend a long time ago. 

And yet, the way José kept on looking back at him, told him that this whole production was for him and only him. 

This performance was done with the sole purpose of making him jealous. 

Well. 

Mission fucking accomplished. 

However, two could play that game.

Which was why he had left him in the club. 

Quickly grabbing a cab and turning off his phone, he returned to the hotel awaiting José’s arrival. 

His heart was racing as his head filled with thoughts of the sweet and filthy revenge‍ he had planned for him.

He had spent the time getting ready. Calling room service to order a bottle of wine, finding his notebook to calm his mind a bit, knowing that he needed to empty his thoughts, so he could get in the right mindset for what was to happen later.

> _I wish you were mine. If you were you would’ve never done what you did tonight. But not being with me makes you bold. Makes you assume. It makes you hurt me._
> 
> _Three months ago I would’ve found someone else to go home with. Now I just want you here. In my bed, in my arms. You’ve already taken up permanent residence in my heart, why not just take over the rest?_
> 
> _Fuck. He even looked a bit like me._
> 
> _I wish you loved me back._
> 
> _Guess the joke is on me for leaving you first._
> 
> _I mean. I’ve had sex with you for weeks and I still miss you._

Frantic knocking on the door brought him out of his musings. But Brock had managed to centre himself, as he calmly closed the notebook.

He made no move to get up.

_He_ deserved to wait a bit. 

The knocking didn’t let up, which brought a smile to Brock’s face. 

“Bitch. I know you in there!” The yell was loud, even through the door, meaning that Brock would probably get complaints if he didn’t open the door soon enough. 

Slowly walking over to the door, grabbing his forgotten wine glass, he savoured this last moment of quiet. Knowing that he had a long night in front of him. 

A night the needed him completely devoted to the plan. 

Opening the door he caught José with his hand raised and mouth open, ready to yell obscenities. 

Brock knew that he had his game face on. That his brow was raised in challenge, daring José to be bratty. 

“Oh? That was quick,” He kept his voice low and perplexed - knowing that it would annoy him more than actual anger. If Brock had acted like this in the snatch game, he might’ve had a chance at winning. 

“What the actual fuck?!” José barged past him into the room, voice loud as foghorn and body tight with pent up anger. 

Standing in the middle of the room he was gasping slightly, with sweat running down his neck - both from his earlier dancing and his fury. If Brock were to guess, he had probably run from the cab to his room. That would explain how he had gotten there so quickly. 

All the well-laid plans that Brock had made in the cab flew out of his mind the moment he looked at him. 

It was as if seeing him standing there in front of him made the last two weeks catch up with him.

He couldn’t do it. 

This. 

He wasn’t even that angry.

He was just. So. Tired. 

Tired of only being used for sex. Tired of missing someone that was standing right in front of him. Tired of the inevitable drop of sadness that would come over him the moment José walked out of the door.

“Bitch, you just gone and fucking left me there,” underneath his anger there was a desperate and whiny tone, that betrayed his true state of mind. 

“Vanjie… I can’t do this tonight,”

“What?”

“I can’t.”

“Mami, we just playin'," he looked confused at him, which was understandable, he had just done a 180 with no real explanation.

“Not tonight. If you want sex, you’ll have to find someone else. Cause it’s not going to be me,” With the wine in hand he walked over the chair he had occupied minutes before, turning his back to him. “I mean you do you, Papi. You do you.”

“Br-“

“No, really. It’s fine. I just can’t do this tonight.” He picked up his phone, scrolling through his work mail, trying to distract himself from the fact that he was very close to breaking. 

Fuck. He needed to be alone. 

“Vanj. Please leave.” He was very deliberate in his use of ‘Vanjie’ - it was how they talked about each other when it was work-related or when they were out in public. They never referred to each other like that in private - except if they were in drag. 

Brock needed that distance right now. 

He couldn’t turn around, couldn’t look him in the eye. Knew that if he did, he would break - which would either result in him crying his eyes out or fucking José for hours. 

Both options seemed equally horrible. 

Instead, he would wait for him to get the hint and leave. 

The carpet on the floor absorbed all noise, which was why he didn’t hear him until his mouth was right next to his ear. 

“Sure, you want me to leave? I can make you feel real good, _Mami._ ” His voice held a teasing lilt that made his cock twitch. 

_Of fucking course, it would be tonight that José would not just go without a fight._

“Yeah, I’m sure,” small kisses were placed on his neck. Slowly, softly trailing from his ear and down. 

“Still sure?” The raspy whisper made the desire in his stomach bloom - his self-control hanging on by a thin thread. 

“Uh-uh,” he could feel him smile against his neck, as a hand slowly traced over his chest, teasingly pinching a nipple through the t-shirt. 

“Boo, I don’t think you are.”

_I’m not._

“I-I’m sure…” He was playing dirty, letting his teeth graze lightly over the juncture between his neck and shoulder, making Brock involuntarily shudder in pleasure. 

José fucking knew what that shit did to him. It was one of those spots that never failed to make him horny.

But before he even had any time to enjoy it, the lips were gone and Brock’s mind cleared up. Finally letting him think for a moment. 

“I am not-“

“Shh. Best be quiet, boo, and let me talk a bit, ‘kay?” 

Walking around the chair, José dumped himself down in his lap, Brock’s arms instinctively holding his hips to both steady him and to keep some distance between him and his hard-on; though judging by the way José was smirking at him, he was too late. 

“If you can make those big blue orbs of Canada look into these tiny lil eyes and tell me that you wanna go to bed all sad and orgasm-less… then Mami, you best believe imma like Julia Roberts and runaway. But if you want these cookies? Then come get them!” he was so close, he could feel the puffs of air against his face as he spoke.

_Fuck it._

With those two words running through his mind he leaned forward and captured those soft lips. 

It wasn’t hungry or rough. It was slow and sensual. José tried to push forward, to deepen the kiss, but it made Brock pull back.

He couldn't do that today. Not in this headspace. 

“If we do this. We do it my way, okay?” The slow and slightly confused nod was all he needed as their lips met again. 

They’d been in this position countless times. Sometimes the kisses would be filthy and biting, other times deep and hungry. 

But these were soft and slow. Filled with emotions that they were both too drunk and too scared to identify. 

It felt like coming home, while also a bit like drowning. Brock could feel himself falling, knowing that this would hurt like hell tomorrow. Knowing that he was fooling himself if he believed that his feelings were reciprocated.

“B-bed?” It was whispered, almost a sigh against his lips.

Without answering Brock got up, holding José’s hips tightly as his legs instinctively wrapping themselves around his torso. For a minute he thought about taking him against the door. 

The hot and dirty feeling of wanting it so much that a bed wasn’t needed.

But no. Not tonight. 

Tomorrow, Brock would wonder why his dunk brain had decided on this route for the night, but right now he was too busy touching, feeling, kissing and just being. 

They had danced this particular dance too many times to count. And while they might not both feel the same way anymore, their bodies went on muscle memory. 

“Brock,” 

“I know,”

As they almost fell onto the bed, their hands did the talking, quickly ridding themselves of their constricting clothes. 

Brock found the lube and started prepping José, not surprised when his fingers felt slick even before he started - of course, he had prepped beforehand. 

_“Bitch! If you stay ready you ain’t got to get ready,”_

But he loved opening him up. Could spend hours upon hours of slowly pumping his fingers in and out, teasing that spot inside of him that made the world erupt into fireworks and pure unadulterated lustful sensation. 

“I love doing this to you,” as his fingers were slowly scissoring José open, his lips were taking a tour of the landscape that was José’s body. The tightness of the muscles and the pure strength in those tiny limbs always something to marvel at and worship. 

“More, I need m-more… I-” Gasps filled the room as he added one more finger.

He was ready, but _Brock_ wasn’t. 

He wanted to take a moment and imprint this on his brain. The last time José had been laid out like this before him, they had been together. 

It had been an ordinary Tuesday and both of them didn’t know that they would break up a week after that. 

It had just… Been a Tuesday. 

So Brock needed to savour this. 

So he could keep this memory safe in his mind for when it all came crashing down. Because it would. 

He was fucking his ex. 

His ex whom he was irrevocably in love with. 

It was bound to end in a disaster. He had read that book, he knew the ending. 

“Pleeease. Now.” 

Removing his fingers from him, he quickly found a condom and put it on. 

Leaning over José, covering his body with his lean frame, he placed both arms on either side of his head. 

Despite both of them always having enjoyed playing together, being rough and less like lovers more like sexual partners, there was something to be said about the closeness in this. 

In not just having sex but making love. 

“Brock?” The questioning tone made him he realise that he had kind of stopped, just holding his body over him, his mind somewhere else. 

_Fuck, he was too drunk and too emotional for this._

As he entered him he took a moment to relish the tight feel, softly kissing the soft skin at José's neck, trying to calm his mind. Trying to be here in the now and not in the breakdown he would most definitely have in the morning. 

He started to slowly thrust, going for deeper strokes, knowing how it drove him wild to feel completely filled. 

“Shi-it. Yes, _Mami_ ,” He was gasping, his nails digging into his back, leaving red and angry marks. 

_I love you._

Brock kept his mouth busy, afraid that the alcohol in his veins would make dangerous words tumble out of his mouth. 

Words that were too scary, too real and too finale for this. 

So he kissed his way across his collarbone, careful not to leave any marks. 

He would be happy if this was forgotten. He was too raw, too much. 

“More!” The groan was coupled with a harder trust. 

The bed started squicking slightly, as Brock upped the speed, his thrusts met perfectly by José, their rhythm as easy as the beat of a heart. 

_I love you._

He captured his lips, tongues battling for space and control, it was emotional and deep. Maybe Brock would have been able to decipher what José was feeling if he hadn’t been spiralling into his own hole of emotions. 

The gasps and moans told him that he was getting closer. 

He still hadn’t looked José in the eye. He knew those eyes, he knew what they made him do and say. 

And he was too frail right now. Those eyes could make him do any and every thing. 

One last thrust and he came over both of their stomachs. 

_I love you._

* * *

He’d had a lot of sex with Brock. 

They’d had good sex, bad sex, phenomenal sex, and rough sex. They had fucked and they had made love. They were both very sexual beings, and it showed. 

But… Whatever they just did was new. It was good but bad. Rough, but loving. 

It hurt, but in the most delicious way. 

As he slowly came down from his orgasm two things became clear to him. 

One. Brock hadn’t come. 

Two. Brock hadn’t looked him in the eye, not even once, throughout the whole thing. 

“Babe? You okay?” His lips were still lightly touching José’s neck, the soft caress felt weirdly intimate. 

“Yeah, I… Yeah, you were so good,” He sounded like himself and yet also like a robot. It was creepy. 

“Boo, you need help? You didn’t come, and you know I don’t be leaving no man behind,” he tried to laugh a bit, hoping that he could coax out _his_ Brooke from this drunken mess of … _Something._

“I… I think the alcohol got to me, you know how it is,” finally he looked at him. His eyes seemed far away as he said it. The wrinkle between his brows told José that he was lying. 

It was his tell. 

He would have known anyway. They had fucked way drunker than right now and he had always finished.

_What the fuck was going on._

“You sure? Imma give ya a lick and suck if you ask me real nicely. Make you feel all types of good.”

“You don’t have to,”

“I know, Mary. I don’t just put any dick in ma mouth, ya know. But your Canadian bacon? I could swallow that any time, boo,” he was holding something back, and it was messing with José. 

What was going on? He thought that they had a good thing going on. The sex was amazing and this last day in London had been amazing.

It had given him some kind of hope that they might be able to get back together. 

But he seemed so withdrawn. 

“It’s fine, boo. Just had too much to drink, let’s just go to sleep.” 

_Okay then._

“Bitch, we ten times of nasty up in here. Get yo ass with me in the shower, pronto like they doin’ it in Toronto, Mami!” He smiled softly at that and rolled off him, quickly disposing the condom and walking towards the bathroom. 

“Well come on then, miss vanjie vanjie vanjie, bitch!” He wasn’t completely back to being normal, but at least he was trying. 

_I love that fucker way too much._

* * *

After the shower they had fallen into bed, José spooning him, for a change. He could probably feel that Brock needed it. 

He knew that he was acting weird. He knew that José didn’t believe him when he made the excuse of being drunk. 

He knew that this was the beginning of the end. 

And it made him break. 

He was wide awake, while José slept on the other side. They had slowly drifted apart in the night, which meant that Brock was facing away from him.

A sudden movement from the other side of the bed made him try to appear as if he was sleeping. 

“Shit Vanjie… Why you gots to keep bein’ stupider than dumb, bitch,” The fact that José thought that he could whisper without waking anybody was a joke onto itself, but Brock kept on being still. 

“Okay mama, time to find me some clothes,” it was whispered as he rolled out of bed. 

He was leaving. 

Shit. 

Should he ‘wake’ up and catch him. Should he just let him go? 

He could hear him softly walking around the room, trying to find all his clothes that had been thrown everywhere. 

Tears were prickling in his eyes, he felt dumb. 

He knew this was happening, he had felt it during sex. He knew that he was just an easy lay to him. 

He was convenient because they knew each other’s tastes and needs. Knew what made each other tick.

And most importantly, they knew that they weren’t a couple. 

And never would be. 

Except.

He really wanted them to be. 

He heard José unlock the door. The sound so loud in the quiet room, it made his heart clench.

A moment passed and nothing happened. It made him hope that maybe he had reconsidered.

But then.

The soft click from the door signalled that he had left and only then did he turn around.

Only then did he let the tears fall.

Only then did he finally voice the three words that had been lodged in his throat for the last couple of weeks. 

“I love you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry?


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “...”
> 
> The silence on the phone was very telling, but not what he needed now, sitting in his hotel room in the middle of the night. 
> 
> “Bitch, you best be givin’ me some life hacks ‘bout now, cause I be freaking the fuck out,” A’keria looked at him unimpressed, as she was getting into drag. The facetime call one she had waited for, knowing that Silk had led their girl down a path of self-destruction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well hello there. Missed me? Here ya go. Lots of angst. Lots of stupidity. 
> 
> So our boys being our dumb soft boys. 
> 
> Shout out to PoppedtheP for making me remember that I also have this fic and shout out to theartificialdane for being there as a soundboard and just the best good fanfic judy out there! <3 <3 <3

“...”

The silence on the phone was very telling, but not what he needed now, sitting in his hotel room in the middle of the night. 

“Bitch, you best be givin’ me some life hacks ‘bout now, cause I be freaking the fuck out,” A’keria looked at him unimpressed, as she was getting into drag. The facetime call one she had waited for, knowing that Silk had led their girl down a path of self-destruction.

José held his phone tightly in his hand, hoping that if he wished it hard enough, he could teleport A’keria here. He needed her. He needed her wisdom and most of all he just needed her hugs.

“Vanj… you’re an idiot,” the sigh at the end spoke of motherly levels of disappointment and José felt his shoulders sag as it hit him how stupid he had been.

“Kiki, I know. But I be like the Titanic after the iceberg hit, I know it ha-happened, but now imma need you to help me be Rose on the float and not Jack!” José was still drunk, stumbling over the words, trying to find a way to explain it to her, so she understood. 

“You need to sober up boo, your metaphors are messy,” she lowered her hand that was applying eyeliner to send her a raised eyebrow. 

“Hoe, my whole life be messy. Like Mama, imma need more than just Cilit Bang to clean this shit up.” falling back onto the bed with the phone in his hand, he wished that there was some way to just unmess it all. To go back to the truce he and Brock had managed to keep during the broadcasting of the season.

“Lemme just get this straight. Y'all been fucking around for weeks, and then you went and gone all Branjie, like you back on the show.” 

“Boo-“ José could feel the oncoming storm of a full-on A’keria takedown, and he wanted to end it before she really got going, but he was too late.

“I ain’t finished, and then your hoe ass decided to play the jealousy game and then it made him weird and now you ran away in the middle of the night cause you drunk and all up in your feelings… AND the tour hasn’t even begun yet? Chiiiiile.” She looked directly through the screen for a second or two, trying to communicate all the way from Chicago how dumb this all was. 

“I know.” Even through his drunken haze, José could see that. 

“Do ya? Cause I think you’ve out-Vanjied yourself. Like bitch?” 

“But what I supposed to do when he all sad face and hot and… there,” 

_He missed him. So fucking much._

“Nothing. You do nothing,”

“I… can’t,” It felt impossible. Brock was his favourite drug, and he wasn’t ready to let go yet. 

“Nah, you just won’t,” trust A’keria to see right through him and voice the real truth. 

“Why you gotta read me this hard, Kiki?” Her words seemed to hit him hard, but at the same time it was refreshing, he knew that Silk would have joked and told him to go get that good dick. 

“If you wanted to be patted on the back you would’ve called silk, boo!” For a second they both looked at each other before laughing hard, “so what’s your plan? You gon’ talk to him?” She patted some powder onto her face, almost done. 

Her mug looking correct, as usual. 

“I mean…” José couldn’t look at her face, knowing that he was stalling. 

“Vanj. You an adult, you need to have a good damn convo with yo man,” 

“Bitch, he ain’t my man!” 

_I wish he was though. Fuck, I wish._

“You sure ‘bout that?” That all telling, all willing Kiki eyebrow was back, daring José to talk back, “Vanjie, babe. You love him, it would break your heart if he found someone new. So go get yo man,” She smiled softly.

“He don’t love me,” José knew he sounded like a child. His voice low and quiet. 

_Just saying the words made his heart crack a bit._

“Bitch, how you know that?”

“We’ve only been together ‘cause of me. I inist-instig… I was the one setting it all up every time, while he always be looking like he want me to leave, but ain’t sayin’ it.” Brock always looked like he was confused as to why he had shown up, the post-it in hand as he walked into one of the many hotel rooms they had fucked in. 

That was why José kept distracting him, kept on throwing himself at Brock, hoping that his body would make him remember how good they had been. 

Last night had felt like a turn for the better, the soft touches and tender sex had made him feel hopeful. 

_Until Brock wouldn’t look him in the eye._

It had made José feel like a dirty secret, and that was why he had fled the room, his skin crawling and his heart heavy.

“Vanj…”

“I know I’ve played myself, and that I best let go of him, so I can stay on that floating door on the sea and blow in that whistle to get picked up from the icy ass water by someone,” Maybe Brock was his Jack. 

_Maybe he was just meant to let him the fuck go?_

“Boo, we both know Rose could have moved a bit and there would’ve been room for Jack on that door. You best figure out a better haiku, cause this one ain’t working, Mama,” 

“Bitich

“Hoe,”

“Grandma,”

“Child,”

“Love you, Kiki!”

“Love you too, Boo. Gotta go, but bitch. Talk with you man, Jesus!”

_He ain’t my man._

* * *

_“Chris Hemsworth thinks I’m a woman, I am so naturally-”_ Brock woke with a start as his phone rang loudly, answering the phone before he was even sure where the hell he was. 

_Why the hell was Nina calling him?_

“Nina. Shit… I just woke up-what?” 

“Could you open the door? I’ve been knocking for ages” She sounded slightly annoyed, but hearing her voice after a week apart was like a balm to his soul. 

“What? You’re here?” Brock almost fell out of the bed, quickly grabbing some sweatpants. Seeing the mess of the room made the event of last night flash through his head.

_Well. Fuck._

“Uh-uh and I got us breakfast, so open the door, Brock,” A knock on the door underlined her request, as she hung up, Brock quickly walked over to the door, his head throbbing from the drinks, the tears and everything else that happened in the last 24 hours. 

Opening the door he came face to face with the sunny appearance of one of his best friends, her face clear despite the long flight she had just arrived from. In her hand, she was holding two cups of coffee and a paper bag that smelled like some kind of greasy pastry. 

It almost made Brock weep with joy. The prospect of coffee was almost too good to be true.

Nina walked past him into the room, not verbally commenting on the strew clothes and covers, but just sending him a pointed look that spoke volumes. Dropping the food on a table she turned around and looked Brock up down, pausing on the bruises on his chest and the hickeys littered all over his neck.

“Well you’ve certainly looked better,” The soft look in Nina’s eyes making something inside of Brock crack, his need for comfort suddenly overwhelming.

“And hello to you, Nina,” Brock’s voice croaked as he walked towards her to get one of those perfect bear hugs that only she could give.

“Ew, Jesus. You smell like death, sex and liquor.” But she only hugged him tighter, maybe she could feel him shaking a bit, or just knew that he needed human contact that was not conditioned on it being sexual or temporary. 

Tears sprang to his eyes. The events of the last few weeks finally catching up to him. A sob was caught somewhere in his throat, but Nina heard it. 

Hugging him harder. 

Softly shushing him, but never pushing. 

Just being there. 

They stood like that for minutes. 

Nina’s hand softly running up and down his back, waiting until Brock leaned back, breaking the hug, as he wiped underneath his eyes. 

She could see him trying to get back the iciness of Brooke Lynn, but failing at that he sent her a small smile and went with distraction instead. 

“How about that coffee, huh?” He walked over to the table and took a long sip of coffee, feeling himself become less of a disaster and more human with every second. 

“B… you need to figure shit out.” The sigh From 

“You bought croissants, you babe!” Brock didn’t even have to fake his enthusiasm, as he felt almost weak with hunger, plus the idea of a flaky piece of french pastry seemed like the best idea right about now. 

“You guys need to have an honest conversation.” He could hear that Nina had found her way to the couch, sitting down as she got ready to give him a Real Talk™

“Honestly, thank you. I haven’t had anything to eat since lunch yesterday, so really. Thanks!” He tried one last attempt at misdirection, hoping that Nina would take pity on his hungover body. 

“Brock. Come on,” He turned around and walked over to the couch, with the paper bag and coffee. 

“What is this, Nina? An intervention brunch? Have you given me croissants of lies?” He tried to keep a straight face, but seeing those big eyes filled with a mixture of mirth and worry, made him chuckle softly. 

“Did it work?” She bumped her shoulder into Brocks, smiling softly, “Honestly, you are wasting away. You’ve lost weight, you look like you aren’t sleeping and Jesus, Brock. The alcohol?” 

“I know,” He couldn’t look her in the eye. Knowing that he had promised her to take it down a notch. 

_Knowing that he had done no such thing._

“Okay. That’s the first step, but the question is, are you going to do anything about it? It hurts my heart to see you like this.” A hand covered his own. 

Softly squeezing it.

“I just… I’m not ready for him to leave me.” His voice was small, his throat tightening as the thought of putting an end to this made his body clench in actual pain. 

“He might not,”

“Oh, he will. Last night I thought we might have moved forward, it felt different. But then he left during the night, and I get it. I wouldn’t want my anxiety-riddled-entitled-bony ass either. But _I_ want him…” He trailed off, not sure if he wanted to say it out loud, but knowing that he needed to at least voice his feelings to one other person “I… I fucking love him.” The pain in his body grew as he felt a lump grow in his throat. 

_He was not going to cry again._

“I know.” Nina’s thumb softly massaged the back of his hand, trying to convey some form of comfort. “But you’re being too hard on yourself. I know you think he spins gold with his ranting words and light up every single room he walks backwards into. Sure, It’s Miss Vanjie, it’s _José,_ But Brock, you are not worth nothing. No, look at me!” 

Brock finally looked up, seeing nothing but love and understanding in Nina’s eyes. 

“You are passionate and loving and our current fucking reigning. If he doesn’t want to get with you, well good riddance,” There was a fire in her eyes, and Brock felt so lucky to have her in his life. 

_But._

“But I-” How could he make Nina understand that he was so scared of that exact possibility. That the idea of José not wanting him back was too painful, too real and too probably. 

“No buts. Seriously. Talk. To. Him!” 

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay, I’ll think about it.” 

* * *

Last time they had been in an elevator together they had almost ended up just having sex in there. 

This time was different. 

This time it was _awkward._

It was complete happenstance, that they had both ended up on this exact ride. Both of them seemed to almost vibrate with nervous energy as the numbers on the display slowly decreased. 

“Righ-”

“So-”

“Oh, you go-

“No, you”

They both turned to look at each other, softly chuckling. 

Both trying to make the other start talking, none of them wanting to be the first one to say the words. Brock felt nauseous as if he was going to throw up any second, the nervous energy inside the tiny metal cage travelling downwards doing nothing to calm his anxiety.

“So. The others be arriving today,” José almost spat out the sentence, needing there to be some kind of talking. 

“Yeah, I am reall-” 

“Let’s end this, _Mami_.” 

Brock’s heart burst into a thousand pieces. 

“I… If that’s what you want?” He felt completely removed from his body, as he heard himself answer calmly and softly. 

As if his heart hadn’t stopped working. 

His eyes were burning, but he blinked hard. 

Forcing himself to be calm. 

_He could cry later. Now was not the time._

“I just don’t need this to screw with the gig ya know?” José seemed completely unaware of the destruction he had just wrecked on Brock. Smiling softly at him, as he gave his explanation.

“No, Yeah. I… I get it. It’s fine,” He hoped that his acting skills were more convincing here than they had been on the show. 

If this was what José wanted, then Brock just had to endure and accept it. 

_Even if it killed ihim_

With a ding, the elevator doors opened and José was the first one to step out, seemingly in a hurry. 

“Imma see you there, hoe!” He called after him, not looking back as almost ran out into the lobby.

Brock was frozen in the elevator. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t think.

The doors closed before he managed to make his body respond to him. 

_I knew he would leave._

_I knew it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry?


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was fine.
> 
> Doing the show, being their friendly selves. Hinting at more than friendship because the fans loved it. 
> 
> It was fine.
> 
> Vanjie truly didn’t feel like her heart was breaking every single time she joked about Brooke, her dick or alluded to their 'sex life'. She didn’t. 
> 
> Vanjie was fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG YOU GUYYYYYS! All the comments, all the love. Seriously, I've been warm all over with all the love, which is why you are already getting a new chapter. 
> 
> I am not saying that we are hitting home stretch, but I do believe that we will soon be getting close to an ending. 
> 
> Whatever type we will end up getting. Who knows?

_It was fine._

Doing the show, being their friendly selves. Hinting at more than friendship because the fans loved it. 

_It was fine._

Vanjie truly didn’t feel like her heart was breaking every single time she joked about Brooke, her dick or alluded to their 'sex life'. She didn’t. 

_Vanjie was fine._

So what if she sometimes shed a tear in her bunk on the bust when it was way past midnight and they were on their way to a different city. 

So what if she sometimes wanted scream in sheer jealousy over the fact that Detox and Nina got to hug and touch Brooke - in and out of drag?

It didn’t matter.

_Because Vanjie was fine._

Except. José wasn’t. 

Every joke about Brock’s dick that he made at the shows left his mouth feeling ashy. Every #branjie hashtag made him want to delete his Instagram account.

He missed him. 

José had panicked in the elevator, afraid that Brock would leave him again, so he decided to make it easier by leaving first.

It gave him the control, something he felt had been taken away from him the last time. 

Ending it had seemed like a good idea at the time, but only for about 20 seconds. 

The moment the doors of the elevators had closed behind him, reality hit him hard.

He didn’t want it to end. 

He had never wanted it to fucking end. 

But. 

He had ended it.

And well…

_Vanjie was fine._

* * *

_Brooke was not fine._

Brooke felt like death walking. Her head was fussy from all the drinks, the meet & greet’s and the long trips on a tour bus. 

She felt like a painted queen in more ways than one. The smile on her face faker than her hips to waist ratio. 

She endured all the jokes that Nina, Monique and Vanjie made at her expense. Dealt with all the #branjie tags on Instagram and tried to not care too much about every single “where’s Vanessa” question that was posed to her. 

But.

_Brooke was not fine._

She was barely hanging on by a single thread, knowing that it would take almost nothing for him to hit the deep end. 

_It was not fine._

She tried to quiet down the beat of her heart every time she packed her things in the dressing room. Tried to not look for a post-it. Tried to kill any type of hope. 

Failing every single time. 

But while Brooke was not decidedly not okay, Brock was numb. 

He didn’t know if it was because of the alcohol, heartbreak or a combination of the two, but he just felt numb. 

He talked with the others, he did the work, went to the clubs and tried to exist.

Was this how José had felt when Brock had ended things the first time around?

Fuck, he hoped not. 

If he had been the cause for José hurting like that… 

_Shit._

They had the first day off from the tour the day after, and Brock didn’t know how or if he could get through it. The other’s had talked about bowling and karaoke, which normally would have been his thing.

But alcohol, Brock and his ex seemed like a bad mix. 

Brock and alcohol on its own already the worst idea. 

_Brooke really wasn’t fine._

* * *

Looking back, he couldn’t tell why he had made that comment on his live. He could blame the alcohol, blame the playfulness that had been in the air the whole day. 

Maybe even blame the other’s as they had all seemed to pick up on the tension between the two of them, which made them try to push them together. 

_Fucking bitches._

They had all gotten drunk on a lethal mix of cider, tequila and beer. It was what made José’s body feel loose and free. It was what made him look two, three, four times at Brock’s ass when they had gone bowling. 

So maybe it was the alcohol’s fault. 

Sober him should have realised what was about to happen. Drunk him didn’t even give it a thought as he did a live Q&A with his followers as the other's were getting midnight junk food.

> _“Have you ever fisted anyone, Miss Brooke Lynn?” José had specifically chosen to only ask Meatball, the question not one he wanted to ask his ex._
> 
> _Trust Meatball to pick up that dropped ball from the floor immediately._
> 
> _“Sure have not.” Brock looked directly into the camera, his eyes glazed over with fatigue, alcohol and something else._
> 
> _“He didn’t even barely- he never even ate ass.” The words tumbled out of José's mouth as he looked over a Meatball, the word not even registering in his mind, nor the fact that he was live with too many of his followers._
> 
> _“Never ate ass? Now, wait a minute-” Meatball sounded surprised and almost sorry for José'._

_But then._

_“I did it once in the shower.”_

That quiet and assured voice coupled with _that_ look. The slightly raised eyebrow challenging him to disagree.

Stone cold. Almost angry.

But also playful.

José didn’t know if it made him want to kiss or slap him. 

The energy between them after that had been… Weird. As if they both didn't know what to do with that exchange. Brock seemingly shrugging it all off, though the challenge in his eyes stayed present. 

Daring him to do… Something. 

It had all come to a confusing head at the club, as they somehow ended up danced against each other, their bodies gravitating towards each other like to magnets, their eyes meeting in an unspoken agreement that found them in a cubicle in the toilet. 

The door slammed behind them as their lips had met in a frantic kiss that tried to say everything, but only managed to voice a cry of some form of desperation.

Brock pushed José against the wall, their kisses biting and hard. Hands everywhere and nowhere. 

And then they had stopped. Almost as if someone had pressed the off-switch. One moment José had been ready to drop down on his knees and take Brock's dick in his mouth right there in a shitty toilet in some gay bar in Newcastle... And the next they were both calmly parting ways. 

After that José seemed to lose track of the rest of them. His confusion over the kiss coupled with his ADD mind and overall drunkenness was probably why he hadn’t noticed their departure, effectively leaving him behind. 

Leaving him to find his way back to the hotel on his own. His anger fighting against his fatigue, hurt and want. 

He felt abandoned in multiple ways, his body starting to vibrate with a classic José mix of anger, hurt and indignation. One wrong move or word and he would pop off, he just knew it. 

As the cab was turning down the winding roads, en route towards their hotel he felt his phone vibrating in the fancy-ass fanny pack he had strapped to his thigh, probably overflowing with notifications as people reposted and tagged him in thousands of versions of that live. 

His flustered face and that look from Brock getting retweeted and analysed to death. Maybe he should read them, knowing that the Insta-stans might have better luck figuring out what was going on in that idiot’s mind. 

José certainly didn’t know. His mind hazy and tripping over twenty-two different trails of thought that somehow all lead back to that look in Brock’s eyes.

_I just need to sleep._

It was all that went through his head as he walked into the lobby of the hotel. 

The only thing his brain could manage voicing, as he got the elevator up to his floor.

_I just need to sleep._

Walking out, the elevator doors closing behind him, he looked down at his phone, feeling his soul leave his body at the idea of the 100+ notifications from Instagram. 

Which was why he didn’t see who was coming towards him until he walked smack into the hard chest of Brock, who was stumbling towards him. 

“Hey,” 

* * *

“You’re so fucking drunk right now, it’s not even funny.” He had woken Detox with frantic knocks at her door, not caring that she would give him hell for it tomorrow. He needed someone to talk some sense into him, the night having messed with his head way more than he thought was possible. 

Normally he would go to Nina. But she was kind and understanding.

Right now he needed the bitchiness of Detox.

“I know,” taking a deep drag of his cigarette, he tried to let the smoke clear his head a bit, hoping that it would make the image of José's flustered face after he had clearly just remembered that time in the shower, disappear from his mind. 

“So you’re drunk, an idiot and you’ve possibly just let the ‘love of your life’ as you so aptly put it, walk out of your life… Am I missing more from your week of self-destruction?” Her no-nonsense voice made Brock smile wryly. 

_Fuck he had missed her._

“We made out in the club tonight? And I am pretty sure that there is a video online of me stone-cold admitting that I ate him out one time in the shower. Other than that? Nope, that's all,” finishing the cigarette, Brock immediately lit a new one, needing the comfort that the nicotine gave him. Not caring that what he had promised Nina, not caring that he had tried to stop. 

“Bitch,” 

“Yup,” 

“No, really… Jesus. You need to grow up and act your age, B,” Trust Detox to cut through the bullshit and be the captain of team Tough Love. 

“But I-” 

“No buts. I am so tired of seeing you being sad and self-destructive. Be an adult. Do that fucking challenge, Brock!” The sudden harshness of her voice made him look up at her tired face. Even through his drunken stupor, he noticed the worry in her eyes. 

He hated that he was the one to have put it there. 

“I… Okay. You’re right, I’m 33 years old. I should start acting it,” he tried to muster up a small smile, hoping it would dissolve some of the worry in her eyes. 

“You really should. Just fucking talk with him. No sex, no anything. Just talk. Fuck's sake, it’s not that hard, Babe.” 

_Easy for her to say._

“Yeah. Thanks for the smoke. I think I’ll go to bed,” he gave her a long hug, lingering a bit as trying to savour the human touch so he could hopefully carry it with him to his empty and cold hotel bed. 

He stumbled his way out of her room., trying to remember the way to his room. He wanted to laugh over the irony of a ballerina having trouble not falling over his own feet. Suddenly he got hit by a very familiar weight. 

_If this had been a Disney film, this would be that moment where everything just magically seemed to work out._

“Hey,” José looked up at him, his phone in hand, lit up with the enormous amounts of notifications that were probably mirrored on Brock’s phone, safely hidden in his room. 

“Hi,” José's voice was raspy, while his eyes seemed tired and done. The way he looked at Brock was disconcerting, but he had promised Detox, so he just had to power through.

“So. I think we need to talk,” His voice seemed far away, the words slow and almost reluctant like Brock couldn’t believe that he was saying this. 

_But this was not a Disney film._

“‘Bout what? Didn’t we finish this whole talkin' bout shit a week ago?” José kept avoiding eye contact, which made the knot in Brock’s stomach grow. His anxiety seemed to slowly cover him in its slimy hold, everything turning acidic and wrong. 

But fuck, he had promised Detox. 

“No, I... Fuck, I keep on wanting to have this talk, but then I just… Don’t. So, given the fact that I’ve had too much to drink, and probably won’t even remember this in the morning-” before he had a chance to finish his rambling José cut him off, his eyes desperate as he finally looked directly at Brock. 

“Then maybe just don’t, Mary,” his eyes seemed to scream something at him, but Brock was too drunk, too emotional, too up in his own feelings to be able to interpret it, so he just carried on. 

“I am just going to come right out and say it.” But the words seemed to be stuck somewhere in his throat, lodged there together with the anger and hurt he had felt the last couple of months but had never voiced out-loud to José. 

_This was really not a Disney film._

“What you waiting for, hoe? I need to get me some Z’s so I can be pretty for the children tomorrow. Chop, Chop, Miss Brooke Lynn.” He was losing time, José starting to be annoyed, his voice reaching that particular impressive trucker not, that he only got when he was close to getting angry. 

“Are you sure about wanting to end this?” Brock’s voice was low as he pointed between them. José seemed to freeze for a second as if the words did not make any sense to him. 

“I… Right now? I don’t know. Ask Sober Me tomorrow and he’ll probably say yeah.” Brock could feel himself become heavy as the rejection hit him. Square in the chest with a direct hit to his heart. His cheeks seemed to heat as the embarrassment of what he had asked became clear to him.

“Oh. Well. Okay. That’s fair. Yeah… Wow, fuck I’m just an idi-” He needed to get away from this situation. Needed to go back to his room and deal with this refusal. 

“It’s fine, _Mami_ , we all get drunk. I won't make a big ass deal out of. Get you some sleep and then I be seeing ya at the show tomorrow.” José’s hand softly touched his arm, making Brock flinch, afraid that José would feel him trembling, afraid that sliminess of his anxiety could be felt. 

“Yeah, sleep tight, and uhm sorry.” with that he fled, not hearing if José said anything back. He needed to get back to his room.

He could break down there, he could analyse the kiss in the toilet, the look in José’s eyes and his dismissive words. 

If this was acting like an adult, then it fucking sucked.

_This was really not a Disney film._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know. I know what type of ending. Either way I apologize for the pain I have cause. My lawyer is ready to take your calls.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It all went from bad to worse in Amsterdam.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... Amsterdam. Yeah. I just want you all to remember that my take on Amsterdam probably differs a lot from the agreed upon fanon. So just keep that in mind.
> 
> The biggest shout out to theartificialdane who keeps on being the best at everything. <3 <3 
> 
> Also. My lawyer looked it up, and you can't sue for emotional distress, if I clearly state that this will be angsty.
> 
> So... THIS WILL BE ANGSTY YO!

_ It all went from bad to worse in Amsterdam.  _

_ Or maybe if Brock was being fair, it had begun the descent into bad in Belfast, worsened in Oslo, only to come to a horrible conclusion in Amsterdam.  _

_ After the drunken conversation in the hallway, they had both seemed to agree that they would leave each other alone unless they were on stage.  _

_ Save it for the fans.  _

_ Give them the show they had paid for.  _

_ It tore at his heart, but Brock kept on dealing with the jokes and touches. He found himself standing in the wings glancing at Vanjie performing her ass off, trying to reconcile himself to the fact that he would never get to be her proud boyfriend again.  _

_ The drinking seemed to get out of hand. He needed more alcohol to get through the shows. The tequila seemingly always in an endless supply wherever they came. _

_ He wrote and wrote in the notebook.  _

**_ I wish you would look at me. Even just to get mad. Just something. But you don’t. I am invisible to you unless we are on the stage. You only care for Brooke Lynn. Too bad it’s Brock that’s in love you with you.  _ **

_ And wrote.  _

**_ It’s funny how the thing that scared me so much the last time is the one thing I crave. I want the commitment. I want you to be mine and only mine. I want you to stake your claim. I don’t want anybody else. Fuck that. I want you.  _ **

_ And wrote. _

**_ I love you. I don’t think that’s ever going to go away.  _ **

_ The blank pages were filled up with love declarations that were never uttered. The pages a silent testament to the turmoil wrecking havoc inside of Brock.  _

* * *

The energy during the Belfast gig had been weird. The excitement of it being the last show in the UK coupled with an amazing crowd and high energy seemed to do something to all of them. They were leaving for Oslo tomorrow, but tonight they would party and have fun. There was this end of school year feel.

They all took longer to de-drag. Brock being the last one out for some reason. 

And that was when he saw it.

Stuck to his foundation. 

A post-it. 

He slowly peeled it off, his hand shaking, excited and scared at the same time. 

He wanted it to be an invitation, while he also dreading it. 

** 209\. Please - V **

Brock had never packed his stuff that quickly, as he did after reading that, almost running out of the dressing room, needing to see José now. Scared what was wrong, hopeful that maybe he wanted to give them a chance. 

* * *

José didn’t know why he had said no to Brock. He was drunk, in fact, they had both been out of it, not knowing what they were saying or doing. 

He didn’t want to make one more drunken mistake. Not with Brock. 

But ignoring him after having been so close with him for weeks was odd. It was as if they were doing a publicity stunt. 

It felt dirty. 

It felt wrong. 

José was in love with Brock. Had been for over a year, and having to play that up in front of the fans hurt. 

Seeing Brock turn paler and thinner. Not eating, but drinking more than usual, hurt. 

It all hurt. 

He missed him. 

He wanted to take care of him. 

But José had been an idiot and closed the door that Brock seemed to have opened just an inch. 

Yet, closed doors had never really seemed to be a hindrance for him.

Which was why he had left that post-it. Hoping that Brock would show up, knowing that he probably wouldn’t. 

_ But hoping oh so much.  _

__

The rest of the queens had gone straight from the venue to the club, but José had simply shaken his head at them, knowing that he looked tired enough to not get any shit from them. 

If Nina has sent him a worried look, he decided to not react. 

He couldn’t. 

Getting into an Uber, and arriving at the hotel all seemed to pass by in a blur. It wasn’t until he closed the door to his room behind him that he realised how tired he was. Both his body and mind. The toll of drag and being an idiot with his emotions was draining. He dropped his bags on the floor, taking two steps over to the bed and simply face planting onto it. 

Maybe he should just sleep, then he wouldn’t be awake to feel the disappointment of Brock never showing up. 

“You a messy hoe, Miss Vanjie!” José's words were muffled by the duvet as he stubbornly refused to turn around. Too tired, and too emotionally stressed to do anything. 

The tentative knocking at the door, however, did the trick. Making him almost jump up from the bed and run to the door. 

“Be cool, be cool. Make ‘im sweat, mama,” he whispered to himself as he tried to count to ten slowly, “two, three, ten… fuck it,” opening the door he came face to face - more like face to shoulder - with Brock.

“Well, you be looking like hell fried over, Boo,” José was being kind. Brock looked like shit. The bags under his eyes were a deep purple. His skin pale and shallow. His hair was a mess, and that stupid red hoodie seemed looser than usual. 

_ He was wasting away in front of him. _

“You don’t look too good either,  _ Papi, _ ” The endearment made the ever-present butterflies of affection flutter in José’s stomach. Over a year after they first started this thing and he was still so very in love him.

For a moment they both just stared at each other. Their eyes trying to morse code the words their mouths were too afraid to utter. 

But then José looked away, the earnestness in Brock’s eyes making him scared, as he didn’t know what it meant. His pulse seemed to quicken at the possibility of Brock seeing him as more than a good fuck, but he knew that was too much to ask for. 

Walking back to the bed he sat down on it, expecting Brock to simply follow, smiling when he heard the soft click of the door closing, followed by it being locked. He felt tired in his bones. The tour, this stupid-ass thing with Brock and just… everything. 

Maybe it was the fact that they only had three shows left, that made the tiredness set in. Perhaps it was because he knew only had three more shows left with  _ him.  _ Before Brock left for other venues and tours. 

Three shows left to finally tell him how he felt.

“So…” Brock was standing awkwardly in the middle of the room, looking expectantly at him. 

“You wanna fuck?” José knew that he probably looked pathetic in his shorts and tank-top, hair all ruffled, face washed and make-up free. He could feel the exhaustion in his body, and all he wanted to do was sleep, but Brock was here. 

José wanted him to stay, no. He  _ needed  _ him to. Needed his touch, his comfort and warmth. José knew that he was difficult to deal with on a day-to-day basis, knew in the depth of his soul that the reason they hadn’t worked out had nothing to do with Brock’s need for freedom, but rather everything to do with José’s brand of craziness being too draining.

Brock might have loved him, but that didn’t mean he necessarily liked him all that much. 

Yet, no matter what, they had always had that sexual connection. The way that touching each other was a craving, a drug that none of them seemed to be able to quit. 

_ If sex was involved, Brock would stay. _

It was the one thing, that José always knew to be true.

Brock’s startled laugh broke through the sleepy fog of his mind, instantly making him scowl.

“What you laughin’ ‘bout, bitch?” Typical Brock, to just laugh at him when he was prepositioning him. It made him feel like an idiot. As if the idea of sleeping with him was a joke.

_ As if being with him was a fucking joke. _

“ _ Papi _ , you look like you’re gonna fall asleep any minute now. I’m not into the somnophilia scene. So no, I don't want to fuck,” Brock had walked over to him and slowly pulled him up from the bed. José subconsciously following him. Not even realising what was happening. 

His limbs were heavy and his protests about sleeping instead of fucking were lodged deep in his throat.

The way Brock was gently guiding him. His hands soft and warm as they pushed against his lower back, made him weak in the knees. 

It made him feel cared for. 

_ It made him feel loved. _

“Fuck you! I be like the pizza man, boo. Always delivering” There was no conviction behind his words, as Brock got him to lie down on the bed, José’s eyes following his every move as he covered him with the duvet. 

Brock was softly kneeling on the floor next to the bed, his fingers carding through his hair, almost making him purr with content. 

“I’m sure. All you will be delivering tonight is some well-earned sleep, babe,” Brock’s face contorted into something slightly sad, but overwhelmingly warm. It made José think of the nights they had right before they broke up. The way that Brock had been extra attentive, while also being slightly withdrawn.

“You ain’t knowing nothing, I might be pulling an all-nighter, hoe!” José knew he was being a child. Knew that he was tired and just needed to sleep. 

_ But he missed being held.  _

_ He just fucking missed Brock.  _

“Uh-uh. It’s time to sleep now, though,” Brock’s voice was soft and warm like a lullaby, the tenor of it reminded him of Sunday mornings in bed and late-night facetime calls. He leaned down and kissed his forehead, lingering for a minute.

And then he got up from the floor, knees cracking, huffing tiredly and made his way to the door. 

“Stay,” José’s whisper didn’t stop Brock from walking away, which was why he added a small, “please.”

He knew that he sounded pathetic, but he didn’t care. The idea of spending the night alone with his thoughts and exhaustion was too much to bear. 

He just wanted Brock. 

As Brock reached the door, José felt the weight on his chest grow heavier, his eyes swimming with unshed tears. A single thought went through his mind. 

_ He’s leaving. For good.  _

Then the room went dark. The small click of the light switch the purest sound José had ever heard. 

The weight on his chest magically disappeared, while he felt like he was going to cry from the sheer relief of not spending the night alone.

He could vaguely hear Brock undress, the sound of a zipper and clothes hitting the floor, each sound managing to slowly repair every phantom crack in his heart. 

The bed dipped under Brock’s weight, and suddenly José found himself wrapped in those strong and muscular arms. The secure harbour of them settling him instantly. 

This was home. 

He gave a satisfied grunt and shuffled closer, burying his nose in Brock’s neck, savouring the scent of his cologne mixed with sweat. It was so quintessential him. 

“Sleep tight, B _ ig Guy, _ ” the words were whispered against his forehead. 

“You too,  _ Toes _ ,”

And with that he fell into a peaceful slumber that he hadn’t even known he had needed. 

* * *

Brock hadn’t slept a wink. His body stiff from having held José the whole night, his head fussy with sleep deprivation, while his mind went in circles. 

_ What did this mean? _

It felt different. Everything about José last night had been softer, quieter and more emotional. 

Brock had in the middle of the night dared to whisper a soft “I love you”, knowing that it was drowned out by José’s small snores. 

He had to tell him. 

Holding José in his arms had been amazing. 

Had been painful.

Had been insanely confusing. 

For a night it had felt like they were back together as if nothing had happened. Yet, the moment José woke up, Brock knew that the jig was up. He had tensed in his arms and seemed in a rush to get him out of the room. 

Brock knew when he was unwanted, quickly making his excuses and left. 

José's standoffishness followed them to Oslo, everyone except Brock cranky over the fact that there had been a massive delay in the airport, meaning that they wouldn’t have any time to enjoy the city before having to get into drag. 

Brock hadn’t complained as it had given him a chance to finally sleep. His body was aching. The alcohol, the emotional turmoil and just being on tour all taking a huge toll on him. 

Maybe that was why he hadn’t taken any notice of how withdrawn José was before the show began. Brock was so in his head trying to find the energy to be Brooke Lynn for the night, that he didn’t notice anything or anyone else. 

He did, however, become painfully aware of, once on the stage, how Vanjie didn’t interact with her. How she kept to herself, joking instead with Monique or Meatball. There was no hug for the fans, no mentioning of Brooke in Miss Vanjie’s long spiels of bullshit after her numbers. 

_ Fuck. _

Instead, Brooke twirled on stage with Nina, trying to swallow the disappointment of it not being Vanjie. 

At the Meet & Greet after the show, she smiled at everyone, but her heart was breaking every time she glanced over at Vanjie, noticing how she never even acknowledged Brock’s presence. 

_ Shit.  _

The other’s talked about going drinking, but Brock knew he couldn’t handle it. So he left them all going back to the hotel, trying not to think too hard about the absence of a post-it, nor the worried looks Nina kept sending him. 

Sitting on his bed, in his darkened room, he tried not to think too much about how much he was fucking everything up. 

He still remembered how José had felt in his arms. If he thought hard enough he could almost imagine it right there in his empty hotel room. 

If a tear a two fell down his face it didn’t matter. It wasn’t as if anyone was there to see his fast track towards rock bottom anyway. 

* * *

**_ Was that the last time? Am I too late? Have my waiting and hesitation ruined it all? I know I set myself up to fail, I mean fucking the ex you are still in love with doesn’t seem like a stellar plan in any fucking type of universe. Maybe you infected me with your love of romantic movies. Maybe I thought that this could be some shitty Nicholas Sparks book were we do end up together in the last chapter. Guess that makes me the fool.  _ **

* * *

_ And then Amsterdam happened.  _

They had been up early, catching an early plane to ensure that they would have a full day in the city since it was pride. 

Brock had barely slept in Oslo. His mind going over every possible wrong turn he had taken with José that had brought him to this particular point. A point where José wouldn’t even look at him. 

Nina was a blessing. Giving him hugs, trying to make him smile, ensuring that he ate. 

It was Nina that got them invited to some big party, bringing Meatball along for the ride. It was Nina that made sure they met Bianca. 

Nina was the best of friends the whole day. Not giving him a single side-eye at all the alcohol he was drinking. Just being that steady presence that he needed, while Bianca spent the day reading him to filth.

“Well you look like a real reigning,” hiding behind big sunglasses, mouth pursed and voice drier than a good martini, Bianca was her usual bitchy self. 

“Uhuh, and how’s that?” If it had been anyone else, Brock would’ve felt called out and maybe a bit anxious, but having known her for years, he took it for what it was. 

Bianca being worried.

“Like you’re close to dying. Jesus, you look like shit,” Despite her rough deadpan voice, Brock could still hear the small thread of concern, which made him smile softly. 

“I still look better than you,” Which was true.

But only barely. 

“Debatable,” the way the Bianca looked over her sunglasses for a second, as the hard front she always put up softened made Brock feel warm. 

The way his friends all tried to care for him and make him feel better was so heartwarming. 

They all succeeded in making him feel better. Slowly pulling him out of his José-induced funk, though it was difficult to know if it was Nina, Pride or tequila. 

_ Probably a mix. _

All Brock knew was that he was dancing, without a single care in the world. The baking sun managing to thaw up his otherwise cold and broken heart. The alcohol in his blood made him brave and he knew what he had to do. 

He had to tell him. 

Now. 

He was drunk enough to not care about the outcome, but not drunk enough to make it a bad idea.

_ He had to tell him.  _

It only took a few texts and some stalking of stories on Instagram to figure out where José was. Dragging Meatball and Nina with him hadn’t been difficult, all of them ready to party with all their sisters.

He had seen José’s stories, seen how good he looked with that ridiculous thigh-strap fanny-pack. 

_ He loved him, and he wanted him… And fuck it, he was going to say it to him.  _

His eagerness at seeing José meant that everything else seemed to fade away. The details of how they went from one club to another hazy and blurred. 

He couldn’t remember what they had talked about on the way, nor if they had met up with some of the queens before entering the club. 

His mind was so focused on what he wanted - no needed - to say, that he didn’t even register the loud music or the fact that it was making the walls and floor vibrate.

Didn’t notice all the people that stumbled into him, as he tried to navigate his way to the bar, hoping that it would give him a better view of the place, so he had a higher chance of locating José. 

He was so absorbed in this task that his mind didn’t fully register what he was seeing right before him, as he finally reached the bar. 

It was as if everything had slowed down, his heart skipping multiple beats as his eyes and brain seemed to finally connect thoughts and visuals into a scene taken straight from Brock's worst nightmare. 

The bass and the dancing masses kept on moving and grinding, not caring that Brock’s heart had just shattered into a million pieces, a sob stuck somewhere in his throat. 

There in the corner of the bar stood José. His back to Brock as he was kissing someone. Though kissing was perhaps too mild a description, as it looked like they were two seconds away from jumping each other right then and there.

_ He was too late.  _

With that one thought going on repeat, Brock backed away, leaving his broken heart on the floor as he fled the club.

_ He. Was. Too. Late.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up - Vanjie POV.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Had he really become that ex?
> 
> The one that was so fucking hung up over some tall, buff, ballerina motherfucker, that he kept on going back to him only to be left in the morning. 
> 
> Goddammit, Miss Vanjie. Where yo R-E-S-P-E-C-T at, Mama?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so yeah... Here's Vanjie´s POV of Amsterdam.. Enjoy?

Waking up in that shitty bed in a shitty hotel room surrounded by Brock’s strong arms was amazing. 

For a moment. 

As the fog of sleep started to evaporate from his mind, José felt his body clench, as the anger over his own weakness began to bubble in the depth of his stomach. 

Had he really become  _ that  _ ex?

The one that was so fucking hung up over some tall, buff, ballerina motherfucker, that he kept on going back to him only to be left in the morning. 

_ Goddammit, Miss Vanjie. Where yo R-E-S-P-E-C-T at, Mama? _

So he kicked him out. 

Or well, he turned the temperature below ice-cold, hoping that it would make him leave without being told to. 

Brock was still putting on his clothes, avoiding his eyes, when José closed the door to the bathroom, needing him to have left before he was done showering. 

For some reason, he was angry at Brock. Seeing his face, made José's insides churn in a wave of hot and fiery anger that he knew wasn’t fair. 

Didn’t stop him from feeling it though. 

That anger seemed to give him a new burst of energy. It kept him going through packing all his shit. It ensured that he didn’t lose his spirit because of the long-ass layover. His mood didn’t even plummet when he realised that Oslo was hotter than hell and that all the alcohol seemed to be more expensive than a motherfucking gold bracelet.

José was ready to go, go, go. Do a death drop on his failed relationship and move the fuck on. 

Brock didn’t want him, not really. And he needed to quit him like any other bad habit. 

_ Cold motherfucking turkey.  _

The anger carried Vanjie through the Oslo show. Her moves were harder and more precise. The energy high, as she felt herself flow with the music in an entirely new way. 

She knew it wasn’t fair.

Knew that blaming Brock for her own weaknesses was stupid and almost mean. But it was better than actually dealing with the mess she had created. 

Vanjie knew that the fans were probably disappointed that they weren’t doing their usual Branjie shenanigans on stage, but interacting with Brooke was too much. 

If she was going to quit him, then she needed to stay away as if he was a bathing suit and she was back on Drag Race. 

_ Step away from the Canadian, you thirsty hoe.  _

The seething rage in her blood made her riskier, her drops harder and stomps louder. So she shouldn’t have been surprised that one of the earrings fell off during her last number, as she tried to create that  _ uh-ah RiRi  _ feel during “Bitch, better have my money”. 

She kept on dancing.

_ She a professional hoe.  _

But it threw her off. One thing was the annoyance at herself for having done a shitty job when she glued them.

Another was her ADD going off like a Kill Bill alarm, screaming at her that something was very  _ WRONG _ .

The moment the song ended she had wanted to stop the show and find that goddamn earring, but knew that they didn’t have the time for stupid shit like that. 

Which was why she ended up spending all of the finale bit standing on the side scouring the stage for her bling. Noticing that she had left Brooke to fend for herself, not giving any Branjie content to the fans. 

It didn’t matter. She was still angry. 

Still trying to quit Brock like that bad habit he had become. 

Standing to the side, Vanjie didn’t take any notice of what was happening, her mind so focused on her earring that she didn’t hear the cheers of the audience, nor the beats of the outro song.

“Miss Vanjiiiie, you alright?” Trust Miss Congeniality to catch her foul mood in an instant, trying just as fast to fix it. 

“Nina, I gone and lost my earring. I ain’t leaving without, that shit was expensive,” Vanjie tried to keep her voice low, aware that the audience was still looking at them, her smile fixed on her lips, so no one would notice her freak out. 

“Oh shit, what happened?” Nina’s big eyes and wide smile was instantly transformed into a concerned expression that made Vanjie feel warm and happy. The loud alarm sounds turning quieter by the second. 

_ The big ol’ drag mama vibe.  _

“I don’t know, Miss thing. I was whipping and stomping and then suddenly my bling ain’t where I glued it? I shoulda stapled it, Mary. How I’m gonna go be Vanjie, without the glitter, glam and rakakaka?” 

“Oh hon, We’ll find it,” 

* * *

Everyone but Brock got drunk in Oslo. 

José didn’t care. Not one bit. His mind was focused on all things other than him. 

Focused on the ridiculous alcohol prices. Focused on the degree of hotness that this city seemed to offer. 

There was not a single cell in his body that spent the whole not thinking about Brock and how he had looked like shit. 

Or how he had seemed to drink more tequila than water at the show. 

Not a single bit. 

He was quitting the asshole. 

He was angry. 

So he drank more than he should have and ended up spending the flight to Amsterdam with a headache worse than doing his taxes. 

_ Thank you, Jesus, Mary and Joseph that he had Jason for that.  _

Arriving in Amsterdam was a breath of sunny, weed-smelling air.

It was everything that José needed to get him out of the alcohol and Brock-induced funk that he had buried himself in on the flight. 

* * *

The sun was shining through the curtains in the tiny room, the glare of it hit José’s iPhone, making him squint as he tried to focus on Silky’s tired face, seemingly very unimpressed at being woken up but a facetime call in the middle of the night.

_ “Lemme get this straight, you fo'real quitting him?” _ Her voice was tired as Silky tried to make sense of what he had just told her. 

“That what I said, Silk” His light shrug didn’t betray the almost jittery energy his whole body was generating at having said it out loud.

For a single moment Silky looked frozen, and then...

_ “Praise the Lord. I been telling you for ages that you be needing a man that ain’t afraid to commit,”  _ The bolstering laugh coupled with Silky’s wide ass smile made José cackle.

“Bitch, you also told me to munch, munch, crunch, crunch!” He was pointing at the screen, wishing that his friend was right in front of him instead of thousand of miles away, so could slap the shit out of her shoulder. 

_ “‘Cause that was what you wanted me to say, hoe!”  _ The unapologetic shrug was pure Silky. She didn’t care that she had helped José be a messy hoe. 

“... Still… Kiki would never do me that dirty...” José trailed off, knowing that A’keria had tried her best to talk some sense into him. 

He just hadn’t listened.

_ “But you ain’t talking with Aunti Kiki. You be callin’ me. So what’s the T, Christine?”  _ How Silky managed to sound suspicious, tired and ready to stir some shit at the same time was beyond José. 

“I am done with Brock, Brooke Lynn and them variations of him. I ain’t doing this anymore. I deserve better.” He pointed at himself, feeling proud that he had finally put a conclusion to this year-long journey of sad-ass pining. 

_ “YES HOE, WERQ!!! You is and you do! Gurl, I been waiting for you to figure this out forever. So what you gon’ do bout it?”  _ Silky seemed to perk up, as she wiggled her brows while grinning widely.

“I don’t know!!!” His voice seemed to reach a new high pitch level, his stomach feeling weird, probably in sheer excitement at the prospect of finally moving on.

_ “Vanj. Bitch. Go get you some fresh ass double D,”  _ Silky's whole body seemed to wiggle on the screen as she almost sang the words at her, making him laugh loudly at her ridiculousness.

“Why would I want me some titties?” 

_ “Hoe. I mean that famous Dutch Dick that everyone be talking ‘bout.”  _ José looked at her in confusion, not knowing what she was on about.  _ “No fo'real. Your ass in Amsterdam at Pride and you be sitting in your room instead of being out and enjoyin' all the trade your ass can handle,”  _

“That a lot of dick, Silk,” José felt his body tense in anticipation at the thought of looking for trade in a foreign country. It was the ultimate no-strings-attached experience. 

Just what he needed to make him forget everything about Brock. 

_ “Then what you waiting for, hoe? It’s hot girl summer and you ain’t got no man. So go. Get that good dick.”  _ Her voice was loud and cheering.

“Bitch, you right,” José felt ready to take over the world, Silky making him feel like a million dollars in the shitty hotel room. 

Thank God, he had called her. 

_ “Munch, Munch, Crunch, Crunch!”  _ Silky sang her tagline while bobbing her shoulders, and for a moment it almost felt like she was there in the room with him. 

“Get those motherfucking cookies!” José sang back at her, feeling light as a feather and down to fuck.

_ “Now we talking, bitch” _

* * *

José didn’t care that Brock was at a pride party with Meatball, Nina and Bianca Fucking Del Rio.

Nope. 

He also didn’t care one bit they hadn’t invited him. 

He was ready to go out and enjoy a night of fun, alcohol and trade. 

So instead he went out with Morgan and Monique, both of them refreshingly not a single bit bothered about the Branjie thing. 

It was nice to not be asked about your ex for a little while. 

To just live in the moment instead of the past.

They went from club to club. The alcohol flowing in streams, the music louder than his own thoughts and the men hotter than any gay could dream of. 

José felt himself getting loose, he took of the prime spot of the dance floor. He knew how he looked with his hips grinding and booty popping. He didn’t care that hands ran all over him, but instead, he welcomed it. 

Grinding back, his smile widened as he felt the promise of a good night packed within those shorts. José grabbed the hands on his hips, turning around to see the whole body of what promised to be a regular Double-D. 

Tall, blonde and handsome. 

Not that José had a type or anything. 

“When you gon’ get me a drink, boo?” José knew that every top could smell him out, but he was always upfront about his wants and brattiness. Not wanting to spend any time on a man who could deal with that. 

“Now?” The hunk of a man in front of him had a bare chest covered with body glitter, a look that José could always appreciate, especially when the abs were defined and pasty pale. 

Not. That. He. Had. A. Type. 

“Good answer, what you name, honey?” They were still dancing, out of synch with the beat, as they were leaned closer to each other, José's voice loud to be heard over the loud techno song. 

“Lucas,” His accent was pretty and it made José’s knees weak with pure want. 

_ You gotta love that foreign trade. _

“Okay, Lucas. Let’s get me a drink and then we can talk some more,” José immediately started steering them both towards the bar, needing some vodka pronto. 

He didn’t care that people were pushing. That the music was too loud and that his senses seemed to be all out of wack. He felt like he was flying high above, his limbs feeling loose and amazing. Getting to the bar he looked over Lucas. 

He was everything that he usually went after. 

He didn’t know when the thought entered his head, nor when it turned into action, but suddenly José went from admiring Lucas' body to leaning over and capturing his lips, forcing the tall man to bend his neck. 

The unfamiliar lips were slack for a second in pure shock, before they started to move with his. José’s hands ran over the sculpted abs, trying not to think about a different set of abs. 

Lucas tasted of fruity drinks and weed. A combo that was a stark contrast to the usual taste of cigarettes and tequila. The lips were chapped and it was just all so…

Wrong. 

The hands at his waist felt intrusive, his insides churned at the glide of their lips, as he almost felt like gagging at the taste of this man. 

_ “You were so good, Papi. So, so good.” _

As the kiss continued his thoughts drifted to a different kiss with a different blonde. His mind supplying him with multiple memories of  _ him. _

Of those lips.

_ “Are you sure about wanting to end this?” _

Of those abs. 

_ “Are you sure about wanting to end this?” _

Of that man. 

_ “Are you sure about wanting to end this?” _

Pushing Lucas away, he looked at him with wide eyes, his hands clammy, pulse out of control, as his stomach felt heavy as a rock. 

_ He was a fucking idiot. _

“Sorry, boo. But I ain’t for you. I gots to go get me my man back,” 

And with that, he ran out of the club. Not caring that he left a stunned stranger behind or that he never said goodbye to any of his sisters. 

He ran with one purpose, and one purpose only. 

To find Brock. 

* * *

His tears had stopped long before he ever reached his hotel room. 

He should have known that José would be quick to move on. 

Should have known that he would take advantage of being in a foreign city for a single night. 

Normally Brock would have done the same thing, except that this time every single part of him was owned by a fiery little Puerto Rican who did not want a single thing to with him. 

He saw the worried text Nina had sent and decided to ignore it.

Couldn’t answer it. 

He felt empty. Raw. Wrong. 

Everything seemed to be an out of body experience, as he almost clinically observed how his hands were shaking, how his breath seemed too quick to be normal. 

Sitting there on the bed everything seemed clear yet blurry. 

He had really lost him. 

_ Fuck.  _

He could feel his anxiety slowly crawling over his skin, the panic attack seeming inevitable. 

But then the silence was ruined by a loud knocking on his door. 

_ “Brock. Bitch. If you is in there, you best open the goddamn door,”  _ the gruff voice made his heart soar, while his brow wrinkled in confusion. 

What was he doing here?  _ Now?  _

_ Shouldn’t he be with some trade in town? _

Brock slowly walked towards the door, feeling as if he was moving through water, his limbs heavy, thoughts muddled. 

Taking a deep breath, Brock opened the door coming looking down at José who seemed almost wild, his whole body vibrating with energy. 

“José, I am not in the mo-” before he could even finish his sentence, José had grabbed his face and started kissing him. 

For a single second, Brock’s mind was completely and utterly blank. As if someone had pushed his off-button. 

And then he felt himself boot right back up again, his hands involuntarily pulling José closer to him, opening his mouth, deepening the kiss. 

_ This was such a bad fucking idea.  _

Yet, he didn’t care. He didn’t care that he had just seen José kiss someone else. He didn’t care that he was just a safe option. 

He didn’t care about the fact that he felt so close to rock bottom, that his knees seemed to be scraping it. Like any drug, Brock just wanted one more hit. 

One more night. 

So he yanked José into his room, shutting the door carelessly after them, running his hands all over his body. Trying to edge every scar, bump and feeling into his mind. Knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that this would be the last time. 

The very last time. 

They both pushed and pulled, trying the get the other one naked, needing to feel skin against skin. There were no words beyond the sounds of moans, grunts and lips meaning. 

It almost felt primal. 

Brock’s lips trailed all over José’s body, mapping him out, trying to be careful yet rough. Trying to decipher what it was that José wanted from him. 

_ Whatever it was, he would give it.  _

Finally fumbling their way towards the bed, Brock pushed José down onto it, calmly walking over to his suitcase to grab a condom and the lube he had stored there. He had never had the heart to throw it out, even after they had put a stop to this  _ thing.  _

As Brock returned to the bed he threw the lube on condoms on it, as he climbed on top of José, slowly kissing his way up his chest, nipping and biting, sucking and licking. 

_ Fuck, he loved him.  _

Brock's hand fumbled for the lube, the sound of him popping the lid on the lube, cut through José’s moans, his hand moving to stop him. 

“ _ Mami,  _ you don’t need that. I came prepared,” José probably thought those words would have a different effect on Brock than they did. 

It was like a cold bucket of water had just gotten poured over his head. 

_ Of course, he came prepared. But not for him.  _

Brock sat back on the bed, feeling the momentum come to a forceful stop. Feeling as if he was going to throw up. 

“Hey, you okay?” José eyes took a second to come back from their sex-induced haze, turning bright with worry.

“Yeah… I just… I-” The combination of hurt, alcohol, and not eating properly for two weeks finally caught up with him at that moment, his hand covering his mouth as he dashed towards the bathroom, almost missing the toilet as he threw up. 

“Fuck, Brock. Jesus.” 

His stomach kept on heaving, the tequila tasting horrible the second time around, his abdominal muscles contracting, making tears involuntarily fall from eyes. 

The comforting hand that kept on rubbing his back hurt, the fake sincerity of it making his heart clench in anguish. 

_ He was an idiot.  _

He didn’t know how long he sat there on the floor. He kept on vomiting until his stomach was empty. Contracting on nothing as he then dry-heaved into the toilet. 

José kept on murmuring nonsense that Brock couldn’t hear. His mind was fussy with the deep and dark feeling of sorrow that seemed to be overtaking his whole body.

“Boo, what do you need?” José’s voice was so tender and quiet, that it made Brock want to sob and scream. He couldn’t deal with how nice José was being to him when he was clearly just a back-up if the trade turned out bad. 

The hand kept on caressing his back. 

It made him sick.

“Sleep… I just need to sleep,” His voice was scratchy, hurting with every syllable that left his lips. 

“Then let’s get you to bed,” He was so gentle. So kind. 

It was too much for Brock. 

“No, it’s fine. I’ll do it myself. You can go back to your room,” He tried to shrug the hand off him, but in a manner that wouldn’t hurt José’s feelings. Just because Brock had misunderstood the situation, didn’t mean that he had to be a dick about it. 

Even now he wanted to do everything to prevent José from feeling hurt. 

“ _ Mami,  _ if you-” José was a man on a mission, always the caretaker whenever anyone felt bad. 

Any other time and Brock would have relished the attention, but this time?

This time it was unbearable. 

“No really. Please, I just need to shower and then sleep this off, I really just want to be alone,  _ Papi _ ,” He added the nickname, hoping that it would make José soften up a bit, knowing that it usually did the trick. 

“You sure? ‘Cause I can stay, babe!” The small smile and worried eyes almost made Brock cave. Almost made him completely ruin himself by letting him stay for the night. 

“Absolutely sure,” He hoped the smile he had plastered onto his lips seemed genuine. 

Judging by the small nod and sigh of relief that came from José, it did. 

“Okay, then. You take care of yourself, boo. See ya, in the morning,” Placing a soft and tender kiss on his forehead José slowly got up from the floor. 

It was only now Brock realised that they were both naked.

_ Fuck, he felt pathetic.  _

He didn’t - couldn't - look at José putting his clothes back on. 

It felt too final. 

Too much like  _ the _ last time. 

“Alright. Bye. Take a long shower and sleep tight!” 

“I will, bye,” 

The soft click of the door closing behind him felt like a stab in Brock’s heart. 

_ That was it.  _

_ The end.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am prepared for the yelling.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Holy shit, Miss Hytes is hungover. Britain, I am gooped and gagged! Nina, you talked with your girl? Do we need to pray for her soul?” Monique’s laugh echoed through the room, startling Vanjie who was concentrating hard as she applied her eyeliner. 
> 
> “Yeah, apparently the tequila hit extra hard last night. I stopped by with some coffee. She looked... rough,” Nina’s shrugged, as she worked on her contour. She tried to seem cheerful, but Vanjie could detect a tiny hint of worry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah.

“Holy shit, Miss Hytes is hungover. Britain, I am gooped and gagged! Nina, you talked with your girl? Do we need to pray for her soul?” Monique’s laugh echoed through the room, startling Vanjie who was concentrating hard as she applied her eyeliner. 

The queens were all clumped together in two conjoined dressing rooms - everybody but Brooke. She had sent them all a message in the group chat, saying that she would get ready at the hotel, citing a particularly bad hangover as the reason. 

Vanjie wasn’t surprised. He had looked terrible last night, puking his guts out. If she hadn’t been so disgusted, she would’ve been impressed. She didn’t know that a human body could have that much shit to throw up. 

“Yeah, apparently the tequila hit extra hard last night. I stopped by with some coffee. She looked... rough,” Nina’s shrugged, as she worked on her contour. She tried to seem cheerful, but Vanjie could detect a tiny hint of worry.

Classic Nina. 

“Brooke a professional hoe, she gon' be here, no worries!” Vanjie knew that she was right. In all the time she had known Brooke, she had never cancelled a gig because of something as silly as a hangover. She cared too much about her fans. Always giving 120%, even if she felt like shit, sometimes especially if she felt like shit. 

“Where did she disappear to though? Didn’t she arrive with you at the club?” Morgan’s voice came from the bathroom as she was applying deodorant. 

The eyeliner slipped from Vanjie’s hand, creating a dark line down her cheek, but she didn’t notice. 

_Brock was at the club?_

_When?_

“She did… It was weird. She was so set on going there and then after we arrived, she went to the bar and just poof. Gone.” Vanjie felt herself go cold at Nina’s words. Pure panic rushed over her, as she realised what had probably happened. 

The bar. 

_Fuck. Nonononononono._

“I tried looking for her, but no luck. You know me, my worry senses started tingling, so I sent her a text… But she texted me back that she had suddenly started feeling sick, and went home. It sounded like a bad excuse, but Jesus… After seeing her this morning, I believe her,” Nina chuckled, but it was clear from her slightly raised voice that she wasn't completely convinced yet. 

Vanjie looked into the mirror, not seeing her reflection, her eyes glazed over as she was still stuck on the fact that Brock had been in the club. The dread settling in the pit of her stomach, as her hands started to shake just a tiny bit.

_He had seen it._

_That would explain that he almost threw him out of the hotel room._

_Or had he? Brock hated anyone seeing him weak, so it could just be that._

_Fuckfuckfuckfuck._

“It checks out, though. Brooke is either party all night or straight home to throw her guts up. Flip a coin, really,” Detox cackled loudly, as she put on a pair of tights. Everyone joined in on her laughter. 

Which was why no one noticed Vanjie’s panic as she tried to figure out if Brock had seen her making out with that guy at the bar. 

_Fuckfuckfuckfuck._

“Yo Vanjie, babe? You gonna start a new thing with that liner on your cheek? I am mean I am all for it - black liner stunning!” Monique’s voice finally brought her out of her stupour, focusing on her face in the mirror, realising that she in her panic had turned her face into a cheap-looking Picasso painting. 

“Fuck!”

* * *

Brooke felt like shit. 

One thing was the hangover, his head feeling like it was inhabited by seven dwarfs that were mining for diamonds.

A completely different thing was how his whole body seemed to hurt as a result of his heart finally, actually breaking. 

Into smithereens. 

A thousand pieces of red love turned into dust. 

Leaving him with an empty space where his heart was supposed to be.

After José had left, Brock had taken a long shower, almost scrubbing his skin raw. 

For some reason he expected the water to turn red, his body seemingly wounded with sorrow, but it came away clean.

On top of that, Brock also felt dirty. 

Used. 

Like a back-up plan. 

The ex that would always be available. 

Except that Brock couldn’t do it anymore. 

That was why he had opted to get ready at the hotel, needing the time to centre himself, not knowing how he was going to be able to deal with seeing José. 

He carefully transformed himself into Brooke Lynn. Felt her perfect mask of professionality settle all over his skin as the last touches were put on the makeup. 

She was locked and ready, looking perfect. 

Not at all like the Brock that had barely slept, as he had instead spent the night alternating between sobbing and writing furiously in his notebook. 

Tonight Brooke Lynn was in charge, and she wanted to try something new.

She couldn’t work with this cloud of sadness over her head, it was not her style. Not how Brooke dealt with life. 

Brock could have a well-deserved breakdown after this tour.

Only then, though. 

For now Brooke Lynn would have to get them through the last two shows. 

* * *

“Hey, gurl! Uh, you be looking cute, look at the mug! Bitch, you best be putting up them tuto-tutu… Them fucking how-to videos on youtube, cause you gots to teach the children them skills, Mary” Vanjie fawned over the fan in front of her. Trying to seem calm as the girl was almost shaking with nerves.

_Cute._

Vanjie both hated and loved M&G’s. 

Loved them because it meant she got to interact with her fans. 

Hated them because they were draining, superficial and kind of painful. Standing there in drag for a whole hour wasn’t easy to do on even the best days. Seeing the happy faces on the fans always made it all worth it, though.

Vanjie always tried to stay focused on each fan. Giving them a good picture and a little Kiki, as they had paid way too much for those 30 seconds. 

Yet, this time her eyes kept drifting over to Brooke. 

She looked amazing. 

That see-through mesh shirt and red pencil skirt making her look like the boss-ass bitch she was. Serving you executive realness with a dash of “I just killed my third ex-husband” widow.

Classic Brooke. 

You couldn’t clock the hangover. Not really. 

But the fact that Brooke had decided to stand with Detox for the whole hour spoke volumes of how bad she must have been feeling. 

Brooke loved meeting the fans, loved talking with them and taking pictures. 

Seeing her depend on Detox and her energy, to be able to get through the hour of fan interactions was odd, almost unsettling because it gave the untouchable Queen of the North a slight chink in her armour. 

Focusing back on the girl next to her, Vanjie made sure that she smiled in the picture, giving it her best. 

“Bitch, you best be tagging me in that pic!” The girl looked at her with big eyes, still shaking. 

“I-I will,” Her stammer was too cute, and Vanjie knew she had to give this girl a bit more love. 

“Come here, boo. Get me one more of them hugs!” Hugging the girl, she did not at all look over at Brooke. She also didn’t notice how tired she looked. 

Nope. 

Vanjie really tried to focus on her line. 

It was just difficult to not worry even a little bit about the fact that she hadn’t acknowledged Vanjie’s presence even once ever since she arrived at the venue. 

Going by the way she was acting, Brooke had definitely seen the kiss. 

Vanjie would tell her everything after the show. Make Brooke understand that it was all just a big ass mess and that it meant nothing. 

All would be good. 

Definitely. 

* * *

“You’re changing your number? Why?” Victoria Secrets, their tour host, looked at her in surprise, which was understandable, as Brooke usually never changed anything last minute. 

She needed this though. 

“Is it possible?” She hoped that her friendly pageant smile would make it all okay. She needed this. 

Having Brooke act out the hurt was probably the way to go. 

Crying his eyes out in the hotel room hadn’t worked, and the fact that he kept on seeing Vanjie everywhere did nothing to remove the physical pain he felt.

Brooke knew the song choice was a bit on the nose. Knew that it probably wasn’t fair to Vanjie, and that she would just invite Reddit to Nancy Drew all over it, but she didn’t care.

Let the fans speculate. 

_They would analyse every look, mood and tweet anyway._

“Of course it is! Just seems so very un-Brooke to give only give me a song title instead of two CD’s and a USB with it on. I am just surprised, but sure, love. We can Spotify the fuck out of this.” Victoria looked over at their sound guy, Eric, who nodded vigorously, giving both of them a thumbs up. 

“I know, Vic. I just had a sudden itch to perform this,” 

_More like a sudden itch to be a petty bitch._

“You’re the current reigning, so really it’s your world and we’re all just living in it, Hon,” the Irish queen was too nice, and her smile was an instant dose of pure happiness. For a single second, Brooke didn’t feel like she was using her pageant smile but actually smiling for real.

“Stop it, Vic. Honestly, though, thank you!” She hugged her before leaving for her dressing room, going over the number one more time in her head. 

_She needed to this right._

* * *

**_“BROOKE LYNN HYTES!!!”_ **

The loud cheers and claps from the stage made Vanjie smile as she gave her make up one last touch up. Brooke always started the show, keeping the energy high for the rest of them. 

Slowly blending in her eyeshadow she got ready to listen to the iconic opening of “Bohemian Rhapsody”, but instead heavy Euro-techno beats filtered all the way from the stage to the dressing room. 

“The shit?” Vanjie knew she had heard that beat before, but she couldn’t place it. Only knew that it wasn’t one of Brooke’s go-to lip-syncing songs. 

She got up from her the chair, walking towards the stage, wanting to see what the hell was going on. 

**_Friday night you and your boys went out to eat_ **

**_Then they hung out, but you came home around three_ **

“Whitney?” Vanjie’s steps faltered, as she realised which song it was that Brooke was dancing to. A pit starting to form in her stomach. She felt herself continue onwards, a sickening need coursing through her body, forcing her to go out and see what was happening on stage; even though she knew it would hurt her.

_Fuck._

**_It's not right but it's okay_ **

**_I'm gonna make it anyway_ **

**_Close the door behind you leave your key_ **

**_I'd rather be alone than unhappy_ **

As Vanjie reached the wings of the stage she saw Brooke dance more intensely than ever before - even the lip-synch with Yvie after Snatch Game seemed weak compared to this. 

The crowd was wild as she twirled, did her sexy as fuck slow-splits, crawled all over the stage and lip-synced her padded ass off. 

It was hypnotising. 

It was beautiful. 

_It was fucking painful._

**_'Cause I won't be your fool anymore_ **

**_That's why you have to leave_ **

**_So don't turn around to see my face_ **

**_There's no more tears left here for you to see_ **

“Shitshitshitshitshit,” Vanjie whispered it to herself, noting the conviction that Brooke was feeling as she lip-synced the words. 

Panic started to cover her like cling film. Her palms sweaty, knees weak, like she was a living, breathing Eminem song. 

Her lungs felt like they were collapsing. Her breath stuck somewhere in her throat. 

_Fuck._

**_Was it really worth you going out like that_ **

**_See I'm moving on and I refuse to turn back_ **

**_See all of this time I thought I had somebody down for Whitney_ **

**_It turns out, you were making a fool of me_ **

She ran from the stage, needing to get away from all of this. Needing some fresh air. 

The cheers from the crowd missed with Whitney’s voice, creating a cacophony of noise that felt like getting punched in the stomach. 

_Fuck._

* * *

Brooke had noticed. 

Of course, she had. 

Out of the corner of her eye, she had spotted Vanjie’s face.

She had seen the shock. 

The hurt. 

The pain. 

All of it. 

She thought that it would make her feel better, hoping that the petty revenge would feel sweet, but somehow it just left a bitter taste in her mouth. 

She could see that Vanjie wanted to speak with her, the way she kept on trying to catch Brooke’s eyes. Her tiny hands wringing, shoulders squared and determined. 

But she kept on sidestepping her. 

Brooke couldn’t have this conversation now. She was too raw, would probably end up crying or say some bullshit that she didn’t mean. 

Getting into her dressing room, looking forward to getting out of drag and into something much more comfortable she came face to face with a nervous-looking Vanjie. 

“Chile, that was some lip-syncing. Damn Mami, I-” Vanjie couldn’t look her in the eye, instead choosing to focus on anywhere else, her hands clenched into fists at her side. 

Brooke felt her body wanted to betray her mind. Wanted to take those hands in her own and unclench them. 

Her mind wanted to yell. 

Both were horrible choices. 

“Don’t.” She stopped Vanjie before she got going. They couldn’t do this now. 

“Brock… I-” Seeing the determination on Vanjie´s face almost made her give in, but she couldn’t. Couldn’t have this conversation now. 

“No,” 

“No?” Vanjie finally looked directly at Brooke, her face confused, trying to decipher what she meant. Brooke felt the confusing mix of anger, love and sorrow in her body. 

It felt draining and horrible. She really needed to leave.

“No. No, right now.” She tried to make her voice as cold as she could. Tried to bring back the iciness that she had perfected at the Season 11 tour. 

_It seemed impossible._

“I… Just, you’re lookin’ like Eeyore in Dior, boo. And I really just wann-” Vanjie started to move closer to her, but stopped the moment Brooke raised her hand, looking confused and slightly hurt up at her. 

“We are not doing this now… I _can’t_ do this now,” Brooke wanted to hit herself, as her voice cracked slightly. Especially as she noticed the way Vanjie’s eyes widened, but she pushed through “this is work, Vanj… Maybe we should start acting like it, huh?” She tried to swallow the lump in her throat, not wanting to cry while Vanjie was still there. 

“That what you wanna do, _boo_?” 

_Fuck no._

“Yeah, that’s… What I want to do,” 

* * *

~~**_I love you. - V_ ** ~~

~~**_I be a stupid hoe and I’m sor-_ ** ~~

~~**_I just wan-_ ** ~~

~~**_Fuck, Mami. I just want you - V_ ** ~~

* * *

**_What am I doing? Why am I doing this? I love you. I fucking love you with all of my heart. I know how I get. I get all crazy the moment I like anyone. I don’t know how to stop, how to dial it back and that is probably why you found someone else. Sure, you came back, but… you’re probably going to leave again, which I get. I am a mess of non-commital and repressed feelings. Just… I love you. Have ever since your loud foghorn voice yelled at me across that hallway._ **

**_I don’t think that’s going to stop anytime soon._ **

**_I wish you felt the same way, that’s all._ **

* * *

The tour was over. 

José was removing the last bits of Vanjie from his face, already back in his boy clothes. It was always weird finishing a tour, that rush of being done mixed with the sadness of not spending time with his sisters. 

And then there was everything with Brock. 

Not seeing him every day after this felt wrong. His heart prematurely getting ready to break at the thought. 

José had to tell him everything before he left. 

Had to tell him that he loved him. 

Mess, commitment issues and all. 

Even those ugly toes. 

He just loved _him_. 

Throwing away the dirty baby wipes, not bothering with doing anything with his face, he found his way over to where he knew Brock was at. Standing outside the door, he took a deep breath wanting to calm himself. 

He knew he tended to pop off at any given point, and that he really needed this conversation to go well. 

“Brock, can we ta- wait, you leavin’ tonight?” as he opened the door he came face to face with Brock and all of his things. 

All of them.

_Shitshitshitshitshitshit._

He looked ready to leave for the airport any minute, only just missing the last few things from the show and then he would be on his merry way.

“I… Yeah. I need to go back home, Vanjie,” he rubbed the back of his head, avoiding eye contact. 

_Vanjie. Ouch._

This was not how this was supposed to go. He could feel his pulse quicken as the panic of Brock leaving already seemed to settle in his body.

“Okay, but I still be wanting to explain everything, tho,” closing the door behind him, José leaned against it, noting from Brock’s tense stance that getting any closer to him would be a very bad idea. 

Brock was packing all his makeup into one of his bags, though it was more like he was throwing it all into one pile, hoping that none of it would break during his flights.

_Classic Brock._

“You don’t have to explain anything. You were _very_ clear,” If Brock noticed that he tossed his foundation a little bit harder into his bag, he didn’t seem to notice it. José did and the sound hurt, betraying the anger that Brock tried very hard to keep in check.

_Fuck._

“No, you… you just be misunderstanding it all, Brock.” José tried to keep his voice low, but he could feel the annoyance at Brock not giving him a single chance at explaining himself starting to slowly make him less calm. The nervous energy made him tense his shoulders, afraid that he would start shaking if he didn't. 

“Really? _I’m_ misunderstanding it?” Brock finally turned around and looked at him. His eyes were blazing, and if this had been any other situation, José would have found him sexy. 

Right now, he was just pissed off at the indignant tone that Brock used on him. 

“Yes, Mary!” José clenched his hands, feeling himself slowly but surely losing his composure, his voice rising as the first threads of anger seemed to run through his veins. 

“Okay. What part about you not wanting to talk about whatever the fuck we were doing, was I misunderstanding? What about you wanting to end this? Did I misunderstand that too? Or... No, I know it. I completely misunderstood how you shoved your throat down some guy’s throat only to show up later at my door like I was your last option… I mean, that must have meant something different than you not giving a single fuck about me or how I feel, right?” Brock ended his spiel with a broken laugh, his voice having gone from simply talking to active yelling. 

_That is not what fucking happened._

“Now hold the fuck up, since when did I-” José started to walk towards Brock, not sure what he wanted to do, but feeling furious at the accusations, feeling his blood boil. 

“I am not done!” The words stopped José in his tracks. 

_The fucking nerve of him._

“Oh, I think yo white ass is. Now you best be listening here, mama. We ain’t set any rules, you don’t get to be all mad at me for this,” José was angrily pointing at Brock, furious at the way he made José out to be a two-timing hoe. 

He would never.

They had never even talked about what the fuck they were doing. So Brock had no right to be hurt by any of this. 

“Oh… So _you_ get to call me out on national TV, making me out to be the fucking villain and sound like I’m a whore, but _I_ can’t feel just slightly hurt about the fact that you say no to me, kiss some rando and then show up at my hotel room wanting sex?” Brock’s voice was cracking, the hurt breaking through his angry exterior. José felt himself falter, as he realised that Brock wasn’t really angry. 

He was hurt.

“Fuck you,” The words tumbled out of José's mouth without his consent and he knew that they were the wrong thing to say, at the way Brock’s nostrils flared. 

“No fuck you, José. Fuck you and your fucking romantic Nicholas Sparks bullshit ideas of what love is. You call me and our relationship a post-it experience? Then what the fuck would you call what you’ve been doing to me for the last month? Huh?” Wiping away an errant tear, Brock looked expectantly over at José. 

José remembered the dozens of post-its that he had left everywhere for Brock. 

How he hadn’t even thought about how they could be understood. 

How he hadn’t even stopped for a single second to think about the implications.

How it would make Brock feel. 

_Fuck._

“Brock… I….” The words were gone. He usually always had something to say but looking at those big blue eyes filled with anguish and anger, his tongue seemed to be knotted into some big ass intricate bows. 

_Shit._

“You wanted The Notebook. Well, here’s your fucking notebook,” searching through one of his bags Brock found a tattered notebook and threw it on the ground.

He looked at it for a couple of seconds. A lone tear falling from his cheek to the floor. José felt as if the world was crashing around him.

He was frozen, unable to move as he saw Brock trying to regain his composure, to gain back that Ice Queen armour. Wiping his eyes he looked back up at José, eyes red and nose slightly runny.

“You know what the worst part is? I fucking love you. And the idea of leaving you is breaking my heart. But I can’t… I can’t do this anymore.” José had wanted to hear those words for months. 

He felt the tears well up in his eyes. 

This was not how he had wanted to hear it, though. 

Not how he wanted it all to end. 

“We’re done,” 

And with that Brock grabbed his bags and pushed past José. The soft click signalling the closed door and his departure was drowned out by José’s sobs, the emotions impossible to keep inside any longer. 

_I love you, too._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that was the end. Thank you all for being there and supporting me and yelling and everything else.. 
> 
> but like my dude. It ain't over till the fat lady sings and this is going to be a whole series. Don't worry.. Out stupid boys will actually end up talking at some point. <3 <3


End file.
